"Here you will commonly find me, Mr. Lashmar, after eight o'clock, and if you bear with my whimsies I shall thank you for your company. This ale, I try to believe, will last my time. If a company corrupt it, I forswear all fermented liquor, and go to the grave on mere element--'honest water which ne'er left man in the mire.' But I hope better things--I hops better things." "And what do you think of Martin?" asked the journalist, as he and Lashmar walked to the nearest place where a vehicle could be obtained for the drive to Rivenoak. "A fine old cynic!" answered Dyce. "I hope often to drink ale with him." "Luckily, it doesn't compromise you. Martin belongs to no party, and gives no vote. I could tell you a good story about his reception of a canvasser--a lady, by Jove!--at the last election; but I'll keep it till we meet again, as you are in a hurry. You have put me in spirits, Mr. Lashmar; may it not be long before I next talk with you. Meanwhile, I dig the trenches!" Ale and strong tobacco, to both of which he was unaccustomed, wrought confusingly upon Dyce's brain as he was borne through the night. He found himself murmuring the name of Constance, and forming a resolve to win her to intimacy on the morrow. Yes, he liked Constance after all. Then came a memory of Martin Blaydes's diatribe, and he laughed approvingly. But Constance was an exception, the best type of modern woman. After all, he liked her. Again they two breakfasted together. Dyce gave a mirthful description of his evening, and gaily reported Mr. Blaydes's eloquence on the subject of woman. "On the whole, I agree with him," said Constance. "And I know, of course, that you do." "Indeed? You agree with him?" "So does every sensible person. But the subject doesn't interest me. I hate talk about _women_. We've had enough of it: it has become a nuisance--a cant, like any other. A woman is a human being, not a separate species." "Why, of course!" cried Lashmar. "Just what I am always saying." "Say it no more," interrupted his companion. "There are plenty of other things to talk about." Whereupon, she finished her cup of coffee, nodded a leave-taking, and went at a brisk pace from the room. Dyce continued his meal, meditative, a trifle wounded in self-esteem. Later in the morning, he saw Constance wheeling forth her bicycle. He ran, and gained her side before she had mounted. "As you are going out, why shouldn't we have a walk together? Give up your ride this morning." "I'm very sorry I can't," Constance answered, pleasantly. "The exercise is necessary for me." "But just this once--" "Impossible! The morning is too fine and the roads too good."