out of all reasonable proportion to their means; at present, with a total income of one hundred and sixty pounds (Mr. Morgan called himself a commission agent, and seldom had anything to do), they paid in rent and rates a matter of fifty-five, and bemoaned the fate which neighboured them with people only by courtesy to be called gentlefolk.  Of course they kept a servant,—­her wages nine pounds a year.  Whilst the mother and elder daughter were at Teignmouth, Mr Morgan, his son, and the younger girl felt themselves justified in making up for lack of holiday by an extra supply of butcher’s meat.

Well-meaning, but with as little discretion in this as in other things, Mrs. Morgan allowed scarce an hour of the day to pass without uttering her gratitude to Nancy Lord for the benefit she was enjoying.  To escape these oppressive thanks, Nancy did her best never to be alone with the poor lady; but a tete-a-tete was occasionally unavoidable, as, for instance, on the third or fourth day after their arrival, when Mrs. Morgan had begged Nancy’s company for a walk on the Den, whilst Jessica wrote letters.  At the end of a tedious hour Jessica joined them, and her face had an unwonted expression.  She beckoned her friend apart.

‘You’ll be surprised.  Who do you think is here?’

‘No one that will bore us, I hope.’

‘Mr. Tarrant.  I met him near the post-office, and he stopped me.’

Nancy frowned.

‘Are they all here again?’

‘No; he says he’s alone.—­One minute, mamma; please excuse us.’

‘He was surprised to see you?’ said Nancy, after reflecting.

’He said so.  But—­I forgot to tell you—­in a letter to Mrs. Baker I spoke of our plans.  She had written to me to propose a pupil for after the holidays.—­Perhaps she didn’t mention it to Mr. Tarrant.’

‘Evidently not!’ Nancy exclaimed, with some impatience.  ’Why should you doubt his word?’

’I can’t help thinking’—­Jessica smiled archly—­’that he has come just to meet—­somebody.’

‘Somebody?  Who do you mean?’ asked her friend, with a look of sincere astonishment.

’I may be mistaken’—­a glance completed the suggestion.

‘Rubbish!’

For the rest of that day the subject was unmentioned.  Nancy kept rather to herself, and seemed meditative.  Next morning she was in the same mood.  The tide served for a bathe at eleven o’clock; afterwards, as the girls walked briskly to and fro near the seat where Mrs. Morgan had established herself with a volume of Browning, —­Jessica insisted on her reading Browning, though the poor mother protested that she scarcely understood a word,—­they came full upon the unmistakable presence of Mr. Lionel Tarrant.  Miss.  Morgan, in acknowledging his salute, offered her hand; it was by her that the young man had stopped.  Miss.  Lord only bent her head, and that slightly.  Tarrant expected more, but his half-raised hand dropped in time, and he directed his speech to Jessica.  He had nothing to say but what seemed natural and civil; the dialogue—­Nancy remained mute—­occupied but a few minutes, and Tarrant went his way, sauntering landwards.