"Well?" said Lady Ogram, bluntly.
"Who is that? Is it a new work?" he inquired, with diffidence.
"It looks new, doesn't it?"
"I should have thought," said Dyce, reflectively, "that it represented Lady Ogram at about the same age as in the painting."
"Constance," exclaimed the old lady, vastly pleased, "congratulate Mr. Lashmar."
"Then I am right," cried Dyce, encountering Constance's look. "What a fine bit of work! What a magnificent head!"
He moved nearer to it, and continued freely to express his admiration. The resemblance to May Tomalin had struck him, he thought it probable that some sculptor had amused himself by idealising the girl's suggestive features; but at this juncture it seemed to him more prudent, as in any case it would be politic, to affect to see only a revival of Lady Ogram's youth. It startled him to find that his tact had guided him so well.
He continued to behave with all prudence, talking through luncheon chiefly with the hostess, and directing hardly a remark to May, who, on her side, maintained an equal discretion. Afterwards, he saw Lady Ogram in private.
"You mean to stay on at the hotel, no doubt," she said. "Yes, it'll be more convenient for you than if you came here. But look in and let us know how things go on. Let me see, to-morrow is Wednesday; don't come to-morrow. On Thursday I may have something to tell you; yes, come and lunch on Thursday. You understand—on Thursday. And there's something else I may as well say at once; the expenses of the election are my affair."
Dyce began a grateful protest, but was cut short.