"Isn't she of my own blood?" cried Lady Ogram, in a high croak of exasperation. "Isn't she my brother's grandchild—the only creature of my own blood living?"
"I merely urge a little prudence—"
"Is the girl a fool?"
"I have no reason to think so. But she has led a quiet, provincial life—"
"Come and eat!" cried Lady Ogram. "We'll talk again afterwards."
Mrs. Toplady joined them in the dining-room, as she seated herself. "Everybody's late to-day. Mr. Kerchever—Mr. Lashmar I want you to know each other. Mr. Lashmar, what have you been doing all the morning? Why, of course you had a drive with me—I had forgotten! Do sit down and let us eat. If everyone's as hungry as I am!"
For all that, she satisfied her appetite with one or two mouthfuls, and talked on in a joyously excited strain, to the astonishment of Constance, who saw that Mr. Kerchever must have brought some very important news. Lashmar, also exhilarated, kept up conversation with Mrs. Toplady. It was a vivacious company, Miss Bride being the only person who spoke little. She was commonly silent amid general talk, but her eyes travelled from face to face, reading, commenting.
Mr. Kerchever consented to stay over night. In the afternoon he had a stroll with Lashmar, but they did not much enjoy each other's society; Dyce took no interest whatever in sports or games, and the athletic lawyer understood by politics a recurring tussle between two parties, neither of which had it in its power to do much good or harm to the country; of philosophy and science (other than that of boxing) he knew about as much as the woman who swept his office. Privately, Mr. Kerchever opined that this young man was a conceited pedant, who stood no chance whatever of being elected to Parliament. When questioned by Lady Ogram, he inquired whether Mr. Lashmar had means.
"Oh, he has money enough," was the careless answer. "But its his brains that we count upon."
"I never heard they went for much in politics," said Mr. Kerchever.