"I of course feel that to be a great compliment, Mr. Lashmar," said May, recovering her grand air. "I promise you to do what I can. But you mustn't count on me for impossibilities."
"I count on nothing that isn't easy for you—with your character, your influence."
"Thank you, again. My first piece of advice to you is to win the election."
"I shall do my best. If I am beaten in this, I shall win another; you are aware of that. Are you easily discouraged? I think not."
He smiled at her with admiration. That it was genuine, May easily perceived; how much, or how little, it implied, she did not care to ask. These two, alike incapable of romantic passion, children of a time which subdues everything to interest, which fosters vanity and chills the heart, began to imagine that they were drawn to each other by all the ardours of youth. Their minds remarkably lucid, reviewing the situation with coolest perspicuity, calculating each on the other's recognised weaknesses, and holding themselves absolutely free if contingency demanded freedom, they indulged, up to a certain point, the primitive impulse, and would fain have discovered in it a motive of the soul. May, who had formed her opinion as to Miss Bride's real attitude regarding Lashmar, took a keen pleasure in the treacherous part she was playing; she remembered the conversation last evening in the carriage, and soothed her wounded self-esteem. Dyce, gratified by yet another proof of his power over womankind, felt that in this case he had something to be really proud of; Miss Tomalin's beauty and her prospects spoke to the world at large. She was in love with him, and he detected in himself a reciprocal emotion. Interesting and agreeable state of things!
May, instead of directly answering his last question, allowed her eyes to meet his for a second. Then she said:
"Some people are coming to us this afternoon."
"To stay? Who are they?"
"Sir William and Lady Amys—and Lord Dymchurch—"
"Dymchurch! Lady Ogram has invited him?"