Early in the following year, old Mrs. Tarrant, forsaking Teignmouth, came to live under her son-in-law’s roof; the winter had tried her health, and henceforth she seldom left home.

To-day, as on former occasions (only two or three in all), Nancy was reluctant to approach the big house; its imposing front made her feel that she came only on sufferance; probably even Mrs. Baker did not regard her as having a right to call here on terms of equality.  Yet the place touched her curiosity and her imagination; she liked to study the luxurious appointments within, and to walk about the neglected but pleasant garden, quiet and secluded as if whole counties divided it from Camberwell.  In the hall she and Jessica were at once welcomed by the children, who first informed them that tea would be served out of doors, and next made known that ’cousin Lionel’ was here, in Mrs. Tarrant’s drawing-room.  The second piece of news vexed Nancy; she resolved never to come again, unless on formal invitation.

Mrs. Baker, an agreeable woman, received them as if she were the mistress of the house.  With Jessica she chatted about matters examinational, which she seemed thoroughly to understand; with Miss Lord she talked of wider subjects, in a tone not unpleasing to Nancy, seeing that it presumed, on her part, some knowledge of the polite world.  It was observable that Mr. Vawdrey’s daughters had benefited by the superintendence of this lady; they no longer gossiped loudly about murders and scandals, but demeaned themselves more as became their years.

On the arrival of other ladies to call upon Mrs. Baker, the children drew their friends away into the garden, where tea now awaited them.  Amid the trees and flowers time passed not unpleasantly, until, on happening to turn her head, Nancy perceived at a distance the approaching figure of Mr. Lionel Tarrant.  He sauntered over the grass with easy, indolent step; his straw hat and light lounge costume (excellent tailoring) suited the season and the place.  Jessica, who regarded the young man with something of awe, stood up to shake hands, but Miss.  Lord kept her place in the garden chair.

‘Did you see the procession?’ Tarrant inquired.  ’Ah, then I can give you very important news—­thrilling news.  I know the colour of the Queen’s bonnet, and of her parasol.’

‘Please don’t keep us in suspense,’ said Nancy.

‘They were of pale primrose.  Touching, don’t you think?’

He had seated himself crosswise on a camp-stool, and seemed to be admiring the contour of his brown boots.  Lionel’s age was not more than seven-and-twenty; he enjoyed sound health, and his face signified contentment with the scheme of things as it concerned himself; but a chronic languor possessed him.  It might be sheer laziness, possibly a result of that mental habit, discernible In his look, whereby he had come to regard his own judgment as the criterion of all matters in heaven and earth.  Yet the conceit which