Yet her gaze had nothing wild; on the contrary, it searched him with all the wonted keenness.
"Waiting--?
I'm afraid I don't understand--" "Why haven't you done what you know I wish ?" pursued the untuneful voice, now better controlled.

"I'm speaking of Constance Bride." Relieved on one side, Dyce fell into trouble on the other.
"To tell you the truth, Lady Ogram," he answered, with his air of utmost candour, "I have found no encouragement to take the step of which you are thinking.

I'm afraid I know only too well what the result would be." "You know nothing about it." Lady Ogram moved.

As always, a hint of opposition increased her force.
She was suffering acute physical pain, which appeared in every line of her face, and in the rigid muscles of her arms as she supported herself on the arms of the chair.
"Answer me this," she went on--and her utterance had something which told of those far-off days before education and refined society had softened her tongue.

"Will you see Miss Bride this afternoon, and make her an offer of marriage?
Are you willing?
Just answer me yes or no." Dyce replied mechanically and smiled as he replied.
"I am quite willing, Lady Ogram.