It was in the evening, after dinner.  Nancy had a newspaper, and was reading the advertisements that offered miscellaneous employment.

‘What do you think this can be?’ she asked, looking up after a long silence. ’"To ladies with leisure.  Ladies desiring to add to their income by easy and pleasant work should write"’—­&c. &c.

‘I’ve no faith in those kind of advertisements,’ said Mary.

’No; of course it’s rubbish.  There’s no easy and pleasant way of earning money; only silly people expect it.  And I don’t want anything easy or pleasant.  I want honest hard work.  Not work with my hands—­I’m not suited for that, but real work, such as lots of educated girls are doing.  I’m quite willing to pay for learning it; most likely I shall have to.  Who could I write to for advice?’

They were sitting upstairs, and so did not hear a visitor’s knock that sounded at the front door.  The servant came and announced that Miss.  French wished to see Miss.  Lord.

‘Miss.  French?  Is it the younger Miss.  French?’

The girl could not say; she had repeated the name given to her.  Nancy spoke to her friend in a low voice.

’It may be Fanny.  I don’t think Beatrice would call, unless it’s to say something about her sister.  She had better come up here, I suppose?’

Mary retired, and in a few moments there entered, not Fanny, but Beatrice.  She was civilly, not cordially, welcomed.  Her eye, as she spoke the words natural at such a meeting, dwelt with singular persistency on Nancy’s face.

‘You are quite well again?’

‘Quite, thank you.’

‘It has been a troublesome illness, I’m afraid.’

Nancy hesitated, detecting a peculiarity of look and tone which caused her uneasiness.

’I had a sort of low fever—­was altogether out of sorts—­“below par,” the doctor said.  Are you all well?’

Settling herself comfortably, as if for a long chat, Beatrice sketched with some humour the course of recent events in De Crespigny Park.

’I’m out of it all, thank goodness.  I prefer a quiet life.  Then there’s Fanny.  You know all about her, I dare say?’

‘Nothing at all,’ Nancy replied distantly.

‘But your brother does.  Hasn’t he been to see you yet?’

Nancy was in no mood to submit to examination.

’Whatever I may have heard, I know nothing about Fanny’s, affairs, and, really, they don’t concern me.

‘I should have thought they might,’ rejoined the other, smiling absently.  ’She has run away from her friends’—­a pause—­’and is living somewhere rather mysteriously’—­another pause—­’and I think it more than likely that she’s married.’

The listener preserved a face of indifference, though the lines were decidedly tense.

‘Doesn’t that interest you?’ asked Beatrice, in the most genial tone.

‘If it’s true,’ was the blunt reply.