Pryce. "Can't we bring it about?"

And Falloden ran, laughing, through a catalogue of his own smart or
powerful relations, speculating what could be done. It was true, wasn't
it, that Pryce was anxious to turn his back on Oxford and the higher
mathematics, and to try his luck in journalism, or politics? Well,
Falloden happened to know that an attractive post in the Conservative
Central Office would soon be vacant; an uncle of his was a very
important person on the Council; that and other wires might be pulled.
Constance, eagerly, began to count up her own opportunities of the same
kind; and between them, they had soon--in imagination--captured the
post. Then, said Falloden, it would be for Constance to clinch the
matter. No man could do such a thing decently. Pryce would have to be
told--"'The world's your oyster--but before you open it, you will kindly
go and propose to my cousin!--which of course you ought to have done
months ago!'"

And so laughing and plotting like a couple of children they had gone
rambling through the green rides and glades of the wood, occasionally
putting their horses to the gallop, that the pulse of life might run
still faster.

But a later topic of conversation had brought them into even closer
contact. Connie spoke of her proposed visit to her aunts. Falloden,
radiant, could not conceal his delight.

"You will be only five miles from us. Of course you must come and stay
at Flood! My mother writes they have collected a jolly party for the
12th. I will tell her to write to you at once. You must come! You must!
Will you promise?"

And Constance, wondering at her own docility, had practically promised.
"I want you to know my people--I want you to know my father!" And as he
plunged again into talk about his father, the egotistical man of fashion
disappeared; she seemed at last to have reached something sincere and
soft, and true.

And then--what had begun the jarring? Was it--first--her account of her
Greek lessons with Sorell? Before she knew what had happened, the brow
beside her had clouded, the voice had changed. Why did she see so much
of Sorell? He, like Radowitz, was a _poseur_--a wind-bag. That was what
made the attraction between them. If she wished to learn Greek--

"Let me teach you!" And he had bent forward, with his most brilliant and
imperious look, his hand upon her reins.

But Constance, surprised and ruffled, had protested that Sorell had been
her mother's dear friend, a