He paused to smile. That was a deft touch. Constance, he knew, took pride in her scientific studies. "We shall talk all this over together, I hope. Enough at present to show you where I stand. Is this attitude likely to recommend itself to Lady Ogram? Do you think she would care to hear more about it? Write as soon as you have time, and let me know your opinion." On re-reading his letter, Dyce was troubled by only one reflection. He had committed himself to a definite theory, and, should it jar with Lady Ogram's way of thinking, there would probably be little use in his going down to Hollingford. Might he not have left the matter vague? Was it not enough to describe himself as a student of sociology? In which case-- He did not follow out the argument. Neither did he care to dwell upon the fact that the views he had been summarising were all taken straight from a book which he had just read. He had thoroughly adopted them; they exactly suited his temper and his mind--always premising that he spoke as one of those called by his author _L'Elite_, and by no means as one of _la Foule_. Indeed, he was beginning to forget that he was not himself the originator of the bio-sociological theory of civilisation. Economy being henceforth imposed upon him, he lunched at home on a chop and a glass of ale. In the early afternoon, not knowing exactly how to spend his time, he walked towards the busy streets, and at length entered his club. In the library sat only one man, sunk in an easy chair, busied with a book. It was Lord Dymchurch; at Lashmar's approach, he looked up, smiled, and rose to take the offered hand. "I disturb you," said Dyce. "There's no denying it," was the pleasant answer, "but I am quite ready to be disturbed. You know this, of course?" He showed Spencer's "The Man versus the State." "Yes," answered Dyce, "and I think it a mistake from beginning to end." "How so?"