ou form anything like a right idea of her,' he said.

The other moved impatiently.

'My dear boy, I know her as well as if I'd lived with her for years. Oh,
how silly you are! But then you are so young, so very young.'

With the vexation on her face there blended, as she looked at him, a
tenderness unmistakably genuine.

'Now, I'll tell you what. I have really no objection to make Fanny's
acquaintance. Suppose, after all, you bring her to see me one of these
days. Not just yet. You must wait till I am in the mood for it. But
before very long.'

Horace looked up with pleasure and gratitude.

'Now, that's really kind of you!'

'Really? And all the rest is only pretended kindness? Silly boy! Some
day you will know better. Now, think, Horace; suppose you were so
unhappy as to lose your father. Could you, as soon as he was gone, do
something that you know would have pained him deeply?'

The pathetic note was a little strained; putting her head aside, Mrs.
Damerel looked rather like a sentimental picture in an advertisement.
Horace did not reply.

'You surely wouldn't,' pursued the lady, with emphasis, watching him
closely; 'you surely wouldn't and couldn't marry this girl as soon as
your poor father was in his grave?'

'Oh, of course not.'

Mrs. Damerel seemed relieved, but pursued her questioning.

'You couldn't think of marrying for at least half a year?'

'Fanny wouldn't wish it.'

'No, of course not,--well now, I think I must make her acquaintance.
But how weak you are, Horace! Oh, those nerves! All finely, delicately
organised people, like you, make such blunders in life. Your sense of
honour is such a tyrant over you. Now, mind, I don't say for a moment
that Fanny isn't fond of you,--how could she help being, my dear boy?
But I do insist that she will be very much happier if you let her marry
some one of her own class. You, Horace, belong to a social sphere so
far, far above her. If I could only impress that upon your modesty.
You are made to associate with people of the highest refinement. How
deplorable to think that a place in society is waiting for you, and you
keep longing for Camberwell!'

The listener's face wavered between pleasure in such flattery and the
impulse of resistance.

'Remember, Horace, if anything _should_ happen at home, you are your own
master. I could introduce you freely to people of wealth and fashion. Of
course you could give up the office at once. I shall be taking a hous