No wonder Mrs. Damerel could think of nothing but the great fact that Horace had secured a fortune.  Her own resources were coming to an end, and but for the certainty that Horace would not grudge her an ample provision, she must at this moment have been racking her brains (even as through the summer) for help against the evil that drew near.  Constitutional lightness of heart had enabled her to enjoy life on a steadily, and rapidly, diminishing fund.  There had been hope in Nancy’s direction, as well as in her brother’s; but the disclosure of Nancy’s marriage, and Horace’s persistency in unfriendliness, brought Mrs. Damerel to a sense of peril.  One offer of marriage she had received and declined; it came from a man of advanced years and small property.  Another offer she might, or thought she might, at any moment provoke; but only in direst extremity could she think of bestowing her hand upon Luckworth Crewe.  Crewe was in love with her, an amusing fact in itself, and especially so in regard to his former relations with Nancy Lord.  He might become a wealthy man; on the other hand, he might not; and in any case he was a plebeian.

All such miseries were now dismissed from her mind.  She went abroad with the Chittles, enjoyed herself at Brighton, and came home to prepare for Horace’s wedding, Horace himself being at Bournemouth.  After her letter of gratitude to Crewe she had ceased to correspond with him; she did not trouble to acquaint him with Horace’s engagement; and when Crewe, having heard the news from his partner, ventured to send her a letter of congratulation, Mrs. Damerel replied in two or three very civil but cold sentences.  Back in London, she did not invite the man of projects to call upon her.  The status she had lost when fears beset her must now be recovered.  Let Crewe cherish a passion for her if he liked, but let him understand that social reasons made it laughably hopeless.

Horace was to come up to London in the third week of December, and to be married on New Year’s Day; the honeymoon would be spent at Ventnor, or somewhere thereabout.  Afraid to lose sight of her relative for more than a week or two, Mrs. Damerel had already been twice to Bournemouth, and now she decided to go for a third time, just to talk quietly over the forthcoming event, and, whether Horace broached the subject or not, to apprise him of the straits into which she was drifting.  Unannounced by letter, she reached Bournemouth early in the afternoon, and went straight to Horace’s lodgings.  The young man had just finished luncheon, and, all things considered, including the fact that it was a remarkably bright and warm day for the time of year, he might have been expected to welcome Mrs. Damerel cheerfully.  Yet on seeing her his countenance fell; he betrayed an embarrassment which the lady noted with anxious suspicion.

‘Aren’t you glad to see me, dear boy?’ she began, with a kiss upon his cheek.

’Yes—­oh yes.  I never dreamt of your appearing just now, that was all.’