’I couldn’t resist the temptation.  Such a morning in London!  Almost as fine as it is here.  And how is your cough?’

Even as she made the inquiry, he answered it by coughing very badly.

‘I don’t think this place suits you, Horace,’ said Mrs. Damerel gravely.  ‘You’re not imprudent, I hope?  Don’t go out after dark?’

Oh, it was nothing, Horace maintained; for several days he had hardly coughed at all.  But with every word he uttered, Mrs. Damerel became more convinced of something unusual in his state of mind; he could not keep still, and, in trying to put himself at ease, assumed strange postures.

‘When did you hear from Winifred?’ she asked.

‘Yesterday—­no, the day before.’

He shrank from her scrutiny, and an expression of annoyance began to disturb his features.  Mrs. Damerel knew well enough the significance of that particular look; it meant the irritation of his self-will, the summoning of forces to resist something he disliked.

‘There has been no difference between you, I hope?’

‘No—­oh no,’ Horace replied, wriggling under her look.

At that moment a servant opened the door.

’Two ladies have called in a carriage, sir, and would like to see you.’

‘I’ll go down.  Excuse me for a moment, aunt.’

‘Who are they, Horace?’ asked Mrs. Damerel, rising with an ill-concealed look of dismay.

‘Some friends I have made here.  I’ll just go and speak to them.’

He hurried away.  No sooner was he gone than Mrs. Damerel sprang to the window, where she could look down upon the carriage standing before the house; it was open, and in it sat two ladies, one middle-aged, the other much younger.  To her vexation she could not, from this distance, clearly discern their faces; but on glancing rapidly round the room, she saw Horace’s little binocular.  An instant brought it into focus upon the carriage, and what she then saw gave Mrs. Damerel such a shock, that an exclamation escaped her.  Still she gazed through the glasses, and only turned away when the vehicle drove on.

Horace came up flushed and panting.

‘It’s all right.  They wanted me to go for a drive, but I explained—­’

He saw the binocular in Mrs. Damerel’s hand, and at the same moment read detection on her countenance.  She gazed at him; he answered the look with lowering challenge.

‘Horace, that was Fanny French.’

‘So it was, aunt.’

‘What is going on between you?’

The young man took a seat on the edge of the table, and swung his leg.  He looked suddenly obstinate.

‘We met by accident—­here—­the other day.’

‘How can I believe that, Horace?’ said Mrs. Damerel, in a voice of soft reproach.  And she drew near to him.  ’Be truthful with me, dear.  Do tell me the truth!—­Is she anything to you?’

’I have told you the truth, aunt.  She came here, as I have done, for her health.  I haven’t seen her for two years.’