"Ah! Yes—yes. I haven't asked Constance—"
"Suppose we say the end of October? You could get away for a month or two."
"One thing is troubling me, Lady Ogram," said Dyce, in tone of graceful hesitancy. "I feel that it will be a very ill return for all your kindness to rob you of Constance's help and society, which you prize so."
The keen old eyes were fixed upon him.
"Do you think I am going to live for ever?" sounded abruptly and harshly, though, it was evident, with no harsh intention.
"I'm sure I hope—"
"Well, we won't talk about it. I must do without Constance, that's all. You'll of course have a house in London, but both of you will often be down here. It's understood. About the end of October. Time enough to make arrangements. I'll settle it with Constance. So to-morrow morning you leave us, on a visit to your parents. I suppose you'll spend a couple of days there?"
In his confused mind, Dyce could only fix the thought that Constance had evidently told Lady Ogram of his intention to go to Alverholme. It was plain that those two held very intimate colloquies.
"A couple of days," he murmured in reply.
"Good. Of course you'll write to me when you're in town again."