d, in this case,
the observer was no very acute psychologist. I feel sure she is
actuated by the kindest motives; but what seems to her my inexplicable
delay has been too much for her temper, and at last there was nothing
for it but to deal roundly with me. One may suspect, too, that she
feels she has not much time to spare. Having made up her mind that we
are to marry, she wants to see the thing settled. Looking at it
philosophically, I suppose one may admit that her views and her
behaviour are intelligible. Meanwhile, you and I find ourselves in a
very awkward position. We must talk it over--don't you think?--quite
simply, and decide what is best to do."

Constance listened, her eyes conning the carpet. There was silence for
a minute, then she spoke.

"What did Lady Ogram tell you about me?"

"She repeated in vague terms something she had already said at
Rivenoak. It seems that you are to undertake some great
responsibility--to receive some proof of her confidence which will
affect all the rest of your life. More than that I don't know, but I
understand that there has been a conversation between you, in which
everything was fully explained."

Constance nodded. After a moment's reflection she raised her eyes to
Lashmar's, and intently regarded him; her expression was one of anxiety
severely controlled.

"You shall know what that responsibility is," she said, with a just
perceptible tremor in her voice. "Lady Ogram, like a good many other
people nowadays, has more money than she knows what to do with. For
many years, I think, she has been troubled by a feeling that a woman
rich as she ought to make some extraordinary use of her riches--ought
to set an example, in short, to the wealthy world. But she never could
discover the best way of doing this. She has an independent mind, and
likes to strike out ways for herself. Ordinary Charities didn't satisfy
her; to tell the truth, she wanted not only to do substantial good, but
to do it in a way which should perpetuate her name--cause her to be
more talked about after her death than she has been in her lifetime.
Time went on, and she still could hit upon nothing brilliant; all she
had decided was to build and endow a great hospital at Hollingford, to
be called by her name, and this, for several reasons, she kept
postponing. Then came her acquaintance with me--you know the story. She
was troubling about the decay of the village, and trying to hit on
remedies. Well, I had