Our Friend the Charlatan

They talked of Dyce Lashmar.

CHAPTER IX

It was natural that Lady Ogram should from the beginning have suspected Miss Bride of a peculiar interest in Lashmar. When first she introduced her friend's name, Constance a little exaggerated the tone of impartiality, and in subsequent conversation she was never quite herself on this topic. Evidently she thought of the young man more often than she cared to have it known; a sort of subdued irritation now and then betrayed itself in her when she assented to a favourable comment regarding him, and a certain suspense of judgment—quite unlike her familiar attitude of mind—always marked her agreement in hopes for his future. The old woman of the world interpreted this by her own lights. At moments it vexed her, for she did not like to be mystified; at others, it touched a chord of sympathy in some very obscure corner of her being. And, as no practical problem could be put before her without her wishing to solve it autocratically, Lady Ogram soon formed a project with regard to these two persons, a project which took firmer consistence, and pleased her more, the more she pondered it.

On the appointed day, Lashmar arrived at Rivenoak. He was allowed to spend an hour in reposeful solitude ere being admitted to his hostess's presence. Conducted at length to the green drawing-room, he found Lady Ogram alone. She scrutinised him with friendly but searching eye, gave him her hand, and bade him be seated near her.

"I have another visitor coming from London to-day; an old friend of mine, Mrs. Toplady."

Where had Dyce heard that name? Somewhere, certainly. He tried hard to remember, but without success.

"I think you will like her," pursued Lady Ogram, "and she will perhaps be useful to you. She likes to know everybody who is, or is going to be, somebody. She'll ask you, no doubt, to her house in Pont Street, where you'll meet a great many fools and some reasonable people. She herself, I may tell you, is no fool, but she has a good deal more patience with that sort than I ever had, and so, of course, has many more friends. She's what they call a leader of Society, yet she doesn't grudge leaving London for a day or two in the beginning of the Season to do me a service."

"I seem to know her name," said Dyce.

"Of course you do, if you ever read about what Society is doing."

Lady Ogram always uttered the word with a contemptuous lip, but plainly she did not dislike to have it understood that Society, in certain of its representatives, took respectful account of her.

"And now," she continued, "I want to tell you about some other friends of mine you're to meet at dinner tomorrow. Most of them belong to Hollingford, and you will have to know them."

Very pungently did she sketch these personages. When her listener showed amusement, Lady Ogram was pleased; if he seemed to find the picture too entertaining, she added—"But he—or she—is not a fool, remember that." So did the talk go on, until a servant entered to announce the arrival of Mrs. Toplady, who had gone to her room, and, being rather tired, would rest there till dinner-time.

"Where is Miss Bride?" asked Lady Ogram.

"Miss Bride has just returned from Hollingford, my lady."

"I remember," said the hostess to her guest. "She had an appointment with Mrs. Gallantry, who has her eye on a house for the training-school. I suppose we must set the thing going; there's no harm in it."

Constance entered in a few minutes, greeted Lashmar as if she saw him every day, and began to talk about Mrs. Gallantry's project.

When, a couple of hours later, Dyce came down dressed for dinner, Mrs. Toplady was already in the drawing-room. He heard her voice, a well-modulated contralto which held the ear, and, looking in that direction, saw a tall, dark-robed woman, of middle age, with a thin face, its lines rather harsh, but in general effect handsome, and a warm complexion, brightly red upon the prominent cheek-bones. Jewelry sparkled in her hair, from her white throat, and on her fingers. As Lashmar came forward, she finished what she was saying, and turned her eyes upon him with expectant interest; a smile at the corner of her lips had a certain mischievousness, quite good-humoured but a little perturbing to one who encountered it, together with the direct dark gaze, for the first time. Introduction having been performed with Lady Ogram's wonted carelessness, Mrs. Toplady said at once:

"I know a friend of yours, Mr. Lashmar,—Mrs. Woolstan. Perhaps she has spoken to you of me?"

"She has," Dyce replied, remembering now that it was from Mrs. Woolstan he had heard her name.

"Why, how's that?" exclaimed the hostess. "You never told me about it, Mr. Lashmar."

Dyce had much ado to conceal his annoyed embarrassment. He wondered whether Mrs. Woolstan had made known the fact of his tutorship, which he did not care to publish, preferring to represent himself as having always held an independent position. With momentary awkwardness he explained that Mrs. Toplady's name had but once casually passed Mrs. Woolstan's Tips in his hearing, and that till now he had forgotten the circumstance.

"I saw her yesterday," said the lady of the roguish lips. "She's in trouble about parting with her little boy—just been sent to school."

"Ah—yes."

"Very sweet face, hasn't she? Is the child like her? I never saw him—perhaps you never did, either?"

Mrs. Toplady had a habit, not of looking steadily at an interlocutor, but of casting a succession of quick glances, which seemed to the person thus inspected much more searching than a fixed gaze. Though vastly relieved by the assurance that Mrs. Woolstan had used discretion concerning him, Dyce could not become at ease under that restless look: he felt himself gauged and registered, though with what result was by no means discernible in Mrs. Toplady's countenance. Those eyes of hers must have gauged a vast variety of men; her forehead told of experience and meditation thereon. Of all the women he could remember, she impressed him as the least manageable according to his method. Compared with her, Lady Ogram seemed mere ingenuousness and tractability.

"And, pray, who is Mrs. Woolstan?" the hostess was asking, with a rather dry insistence.

"A charming little woman," replied Mrs. Toplady, sincerity in look and voice. "I knew her before her marriage, which perhaps was not quite—but the poor man is dead. A sister of hers married into my husband's family. She plays beautifully, an exquisite touch."

They were summoned to dinner. At table it was Mrs. Toplady who led the conversation, but in such a way as to assume no undue prominence, rather she seemed to be all attention to other talk, and, her smile notwithstanding, to listen with the most open-minded interest to whatever was said. Her manner to Lady Ogram was marked with deference, at times with something like affectionate gentleness; to Miss Bride she paid the compliment of amiable gravity; and towards Lashmar she could not have borne herself more respectfully—at all events in language—if he had been a member of the Cabinet; every word which fell from him she found suggestive, illuminative, and seemed to treasure it in her mind. After dinner, Dyce received from her his cue for drawing-room oratory; he was led into large discourse, and Mrs. Toplady's eyes beamed the most intelligent sympathy. None the less did roguery still lurk at the corner of her lips, so that from time to time the philosopher fidgeted a little, and asked himself uneasily what that smile meant.

At nine o'clock next morning, Lashmar and Constance sat down to breakfast alone. Mrs. Toplady rarely showed herself much before noon.

"If the sky clears," said Constance, "Lady Ogram will drive at eleven, and you are invited to accompany her."

"And you?" asked Dyce.

"I have work for two or three hours."

Lashmar chipped at an egg, a thoughtful smile upon his countenance.

"Can you tell me anything about Mrs. Toplady?" he inquired.

"Only what I have heard from Lady Ogram."

Constance sketched a biography. The lady had been twice married, first in early youth to a man who had nothing, and who became phthisical; during his illness they suffered from dire poverty and, at her husband's death, the penniless widow received great kindness from Lady Ogram, whose acquaintance she had made accidentally. Two years afterwards, she married a northern manufacturer of more than twice her age; an instance (remarked Miss Bride) of natural reaction. It chanced that a Royal Personage, on a certain public occasion, became the guest of the manufacturer, who had local dignities; and so well did Mrs. Toplady play her part of hostess that Royalty deigned to count her henceforth among its friends. Her husband would have received a title, but an inopportune malady cut short his life. A daughter of the first marriage still lived; she had wedded into the army, and was little heard of. Mrs. Toplady, a widow unattached, took her ease in the world.

"She has seven or eight thousand a year," said Constance, "and spends it all on herself. Naturally, she is a very polished and ornamental person."

"Something more than that, I fancy," returned Dyce, musing.

"Oh, as Lady Ogram would say, she is not a fool."

Dyce smiled, and let the topic pass. He was enjoying his breakfast, and, under this genial influence, presently felt moved to intimate speech.

"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.