‘It’s your own business.  I leave you to make what plans you like.’

Nancy reflected.

‘You ought to have a change,’ she said considerately.  ’It would do you good.  Suppose we all go to Teignmouth?  I should think that would suit you.’

‘Why Teignmouth?’

’I enjoyed it last year.  And the lodgings were comfortable.  We could have the same, from the first week in August.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I wrote the other day, and asked,’ Nancy replied with a smile.

But Mr. Lord declined to leave home.  Mary Woodruff did her best to persuade him, until he angrily imposed silence.  In a day or two he said to Nancy: 

’If you wish to go to Teignmouth, take Jessica and her mother.  People mustn’t die for want of a five-pound note.  Make your arrangements, and let me know what money you’ll need.’

‘It’s very kind of you, father.’

Mr. Lord turned away.  His daughter noticed that he walked feebly, and she felt a moment’s compunction.

‘Father—­you are not so well to-day.’

Without looking round, he replied that he would be well enough if left alone; and Nancy did not venture to say more.

A few days later, she called in De Crespigny Park after dinnertime.  Mrs. Peachey and Fanny were at Brighton; Beatrice had preferred to stay in London, being very busy with her great project.  Whilst she talked of it with Nancy, Peachey and Luckworth Crewe came in together.  There was sprightly conversation, in which the host, obviously glad of his wife’s absence, took a moderate part.  Presently, Miss.  Lord and he found themselves gossiping alone; the other two had moved aside, and, as a look informed Nancy, were deep in confidential dialogue.

‘What do you think of that business?’ she asked her companion in an undertone.

‘I shouldn’t wonder if it answers,’ said the young man, speaking as usual, with a soft, amiable voice.  ’Our friend is helping, and he generally knows what he’s about.’

Crewe remained only for half-an-hour; on shaking hands with him, Nancy made known that she was going to the seaside next Monday for a few weeks, and the man of business answered only with ’I hope you’ll enjoy yourself.’  Soon afterwards, she took leave.  At the junction of De Crespigny Park and Grove Lane, some one approached her, and with no great surprise Nancy saw that it was Crewe.

‘Been waiting for you,’ he said.  ’You remember you promised me another walk.’

‘Oh, it’s much too late.’

‘Of course it is.  I didn’t mean now.  But to-morrow.’

‘Impossible.’  She moved on, in the direction away from her home.  ’I shall be with friends in the evening, the Morgans.’

’Confound it!  I had made up my mind to ask you for last Saturday, but some country people nabbed me for the whole of that day.  I took them up the Monument, and up St Paul’s.’

‘I’ve never been up the Monument,’ said Nancy.