m her, and there could be just as
little doubt that he would not keep it long. Whenever she questioned him
about the holiday at Scarborough, he put on a smile unlike any she
had ever seen on his face, so profoundly thoughtful was it, so loftily
reserved. On the subject of Mrs. Damerel he did not choose to be very
communicative; Nancy gathered little more than she had learnt from his
letter. But very plainly the young man held himself in higher esteem
than hitherto; very plainly he had learnt to think of 'the office' as a
burden or degradation, from which he would soon escape. Prompted by her
own tormenting conscience, his sister wondered whether Fanny French
had anything to do with the mystery; but this seemed improbable. She
mentioned Fanny's name one evening.

'Do you see much of her?'

'Not much,' was the dreamy reply. 'When are you going to call?'

'Oh, not at present,' said Nancy.

'You've altered again, then?'

She vouchsafed no answer.

'There's something I think I ought to tell you,' said Horace, speaking
as though he were the elder and felt a responsibility. 'People have been
talking about you and Mr. Crewe.'

'What!' She flashed into excessive anger. 'Who has been talking?'

'The people over there. Of course I know it's all nonsense. At
least'--he raised his eyebrows--'I suppose it is.'

'_I_ should suppose so,' said Nancy, with vehement scorn.

Their father's illness imposed a restraint upon trifling conversation.
Mary Woodruff, now attending upon Mr. Lord under the doctor's
directions, had held grave talk with Nancy. The Barmbys, father and
son, called frequently, and went away with gloomy faces. Nancy and her
brother were summoned, separately, to the invalid's room at uncertain
times, but neither was allowed to perform any service for him; their
sympathy, more often than not, excited irritation; the sufferer always
seemed desirous of saying more than the few and insignificant words
which actually passed his lips, and generally, after a long silence, he
gave the young people an abrupt dismissal. With his daughter he spoke
at length, in language which awed her by its solemnity; Nancy could only
understand him as meaning that his end drew near. He had been reviewing,
he said, the course of her life, and trying to forecast her future.

'I give you no more advice; it would only be repeating what I have said
hundreds of times. All I can _do_ for your good, I have done. You will
understand me better i