attached herself to him, and soon led him into familiar dialogue.  He learnt from her that they had lived for two or three years in a very quiet country place; they had come up for the season, but did not know many people.  She spoke of her daughter, who stood just out of earshot,—­her eyes cast down, on her face a sad fixed smile,—­and said that it had been necessary almost to force her into society.  ’She loves the country, and is so fond of books; but at her age it’s really a shame to live like a nun—­don’t you think so, Mr. Lord?’ Decidedly it was, said Horace.  ’I’m doing my best,’ pursued Mrs. Chittle, ’to cure her of her shyness.  She is really afraid of people—­and it’s such a pity.  She says that the things people talk about don’t interest her; but all people are not frivolous—­are they, Mr. Lord?’ Horace hoped not; and presently out of mere good-nature he tried to converse with the young lady in a way that should neither alarm her shyness nor prove distasteful to her intelligence.  But with very little success.  From time to time the girl glanced at him with strange timidity, yet seemed quite willing to listen as long as he chose to talk.

Fanny, being at a considerable distance from home, was to return to the boarding-house where her chaperon now lived, and have a room there for the night.  Horace disliked this arrangement, for the objectionable Mankelow lived in the same house.  When he was able to get speech with Fanny, he tried to persuade her to go with him all the way home to Camberwell in a cab.  Miss.  French would not listen to the suggestion.

‘Who ever heard of such a thing?  It wouldn’t be proper.’

‘Proper!  Oh, I like that!’ he replied, with scathing irony.

’You can either like it or not.  Mrs. Damerel wouldn’t dream of allowing it.  I think she’s quite as good a judge of propriety as you are.’

They were in a corner of the dining-room.  Fanny, having supped much to her satisfaction, had a high colour, and treated her lover with more than usual insolence.  Horace had eaten little, but had not refrained from beverages; he was disposed to assert himself.

’It seems to me that we ought to have an understanding.  You never do as I wish in a single thing.  What do you mean by it?’

‘Oh, if you’re going to be nasty—­’

She made the gesture of a servant-girl who quarrels with her young man at the street-corner.

‘I can’t stand the kind of treatment you’ve given me lately,’ said Horace, with muffled anger.

‘I’ve told you I shall do just as I like.’

’Very well.  That’s as much as to say that you care nothing about me.  I’m not going to be the slave of a girl who has no sense of honour —­not even of decency.  If you wish me to speak to you again you must speak first.’

And he left her, Fanny laughing scornfully.

It drew towards one o’clock when, having exhausted the delights of the evening, and being in a decidedly limp condition, Mrs. Damerel and her protegee drove home.  Fanny said nothing of what had passed between her and Horace.  The elder lady, after keeping silence for half the drive, spoke at length in a tone of indulgent playfulness.