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."