Nancy put in a word.

‘That shows you don’t in the least understand me, father.’

’We won’t argue about it.  But bear in mind, Horace, that you bring your sister back not later than half-past eleven.  You are to be here by half-past eleven.’

‘That’s rather early,’ replied the young man, though in a submissive tone.

’It’s the hour I appoint.  Samuel Barmby will be with you, and he will know the arrangement; but I tell you now, so that there may be no misunderstanding.’

Nancy sat in a very upright position, displeasure plain upon her countenance.  But she made no remark.  Horace, who had his reasons for desiring to preserve a genial tone, affected acquiescence.  Presently he and his sister went upstairs to the drawing-room, where they sat down at a distance apart—­Nancy by the window, gazing at the warm clouds above the roofs opposite, the young man in a corner which the dusk already shadowed.  Some time passed before either spoke, and it was Horace’s voice which first made itself heard.

‘Nancy, don’t you think it’s about time we began to behave firmly?’

‘It depends what you mean by firmness,’ she answered in an absent tone.

‘We’re old enough to judge for ourselves.’

‘I am, no doubt.  But I’m not so sure about you.’

‘Oh, all right.  Then we won’t talk about it.’

Another quarter of an hour went by.  The room was in twilight.  There came a knock at the door, and Mary Woodruff, a wax-taper in her hand, entered to light the gas.  Having drawn the blind, and given a glance round to see that everything was in order, she addressed Nancy, her tone perfectly respectful, though she used no formality.

’Martha has been asking me whether she can go out to-morrow night for an hour or two.’

‘You don’t wish to go yourself?’ Miss.  Lord returned, her voice significant of life-long familiarity.

‘Oh no!’

And Mary showed one of her infrequent smiles.

’She may go immediately after dinner, and be away till half-past ten.’

The servant bent her head, and withdrew.  As soon as she was gone, Horace laughed.

‘There you are!  What did father say?’

Nancy was silent.

‘Well, I’m going to have a word with him,’ continued the young man, sauntering towards the door with his hands in his pockets.  He looked exceedingly nervous.  ’When I come back, I may have something to tell you.’

‘Very likely,’ remarked his sister in a dry tone, and seated herself under the chandelier with a book.

Horace slowly descended the stairs.  At the foot he stood for a moment, then moved towards his father’s door.  Another hesitancy, though briefer, and he knocked for admission, which was at once granted.  Mr. Lord sat in his round-backed chair, smoking a pipe, on his knees an evening paper.  He looked at Horace from under his eyebrows, but with good humour.