"You live very comfortably here, don't you? You have no objection on principle to this kind of thing?"—his waving hand indicated the well-spread table.
"I? Certainly not. Why should I object to civilisation?"
"I'm not quite sure that I have got at your point of view yet," answered Dyce, good-humouredly. "You know mine. The tools to him who can use them. A breakfast such as this puts us at an advantage over the poorer world for the rest of the day. But the advantage isn't stolen. How came we here? Is it merely the cost of the railway ticket that transports me from my rasher in a London lodging to reindeer's tongue and so on in the breakfast-room at Rivenoak? I fancy not."
He paused. Was it wise to hint before Constance that he had lived rather poorly? He hoped, and believed, that she knew nothing definite as to his circumstances.
"Why, no," she assented, with a smile. "I, for example, have perhaps some part in it."
Dyce gazed at her, surprised at this frankness.
"You certainly have. And it reminds me that I may seem very ungrateful; I have hardly said 'thank you.' Shake hands, and believe that I am not ungrateful."
She hesitated. Not till the hand had been extended to her for an appreciable moment, did she give her own. In doing so, she wore a hard smile.
"So, this evening," went on Dyce, "I meet my supporters. Lady Ogram gave me an account of them yesterday. Tell me what you think. May I be myself with these people? Or must I talk twaddle. I dislike twaddle, as you know, but I don't want to spoil my chances. You understand how I look at this business? My object in life is to gain influence, that I may spread my views. Parliament, I take it, is the best means. Considering the nature of the average elector, I don't think one need worry about the method one pursues to get elected. I won't tell lies; that goes against the grain with me. But I must be practical."
Constance watched him, and seemed to weigh his remarks.