a woman, and if
women don't express themselves quite as men do, I see no great harm in
it. I don't think mannishness is a very nice quality. After all, I am
myself, and I can't become somebody else, and certainly shouldn't care
to, if I could."

Dyce began to laugh forbearingly.

"Come, come," he said, "what's all this wrangling about? Row did it
begin? That's the extraordinary thing with women; one gets so easily
off the track, and runs one doesn't know where. What was I saying? Oh,
simply that I couldn't be sure, yet, whether Hollingford would suit me.
Let us keep to the higher plane. It's safer than too familiar detail."

Iris was not to be so easily composed. She remarked a change in her
friend since he had ceased to be Leonard's tutor; he seemed to hold her
in slighter esteem, a result, no doubt, of the larger prospects opening
before him. She was jealous of old Lady Ogram, whose place and wealth
gave her such power to shape a man's fortunes. For some time now, Iris
had imagined herself an influence in Lashmar's life, had dreamed that
her influence might prevail over all other. In marrying, she had
sacrificed herself to an illusory hope; but she was now an experienced
woman, able to distinguish the phantasmal from the genuine, and of
Lashmar's powers there could be no doubt. Her own judgment she saw
confirmed by that of Lady Ogram. Sharp would be her pang if the
aspiring genius left her aside, passed beyond her with a careless nod.
She half accused him of ingratitude.

"I'm not at all sure," she said, rather coldly, "that you think me
capable of rising to the higher plane. Perhaps trivial details are more
suited to my intelligence."

Dyce had relieved himself of a slight splenetic oppression, and felt
that he was behaving boorishly. He brightened and grew cordial,
admitted a superfluous sensitiveness, assured his companion that he
prized her sympathy, counted seriously upon her advice; in short, was
as amiable as he knew how to be. Under his soothing talk, Mrs. Woolstan
recovered herself; but she had a preoccupied air.

"If you regard me as a serious friend," she said at length with some
embarrassment, "you can easily prove it, and put my mind at ease."

"How?" asked Dyce, with a quick, startled look.

"You have said more than once that a man and woman who were really
friends should be just as men are with each other--plain-spoken and
straightforward and--and no nonsense."

"That's my principle. I won't