'

Her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled, as though she had brought the
most exhilarating news.

'What do I care?' said Mrs. Peachey, to whom her sister had addressed
the last remark.

'Just as much as I care about your affairs, no doubt,' returned Fanny,
with genial frankness.

'Don't be in too great a hurry,' remarked Beatrice, who showed the
calculating wrinkle at the corner of her eye. 'Because he's dead, that
doesn't say that your masher comes in for money.'

'Who'll get it, then?'

'There may be nothing worth speaking of to get, for all we know.'

Beatrice had not as yet gained Fanny's co-operation in the commercial
scheme now being elaborated; though of far more amiable nature than Mrs.
Peachey, she heartily hoped that the girl might be disappointed in her
expectations from Mr. Lord's will. An hour later, she walked along Grove
Lane, and saw for herself that Fanny's announcement was accurate; the
close-drawn blinds could mean but one thing.

To-day there was little likelihood of learning particulars, but on the
morrow Fanny might perchance hear something from Horace Lord. However,
the evening brought a note, hand-delivered by some stranger. Horace
wrote only a line or two, informing Fanny that his father had died about
eight o'clock that morning, and adding: 'Please be at home to-morrow at
twelve.'

At twelve next day Fanny received her lover alone in the drawing-room.
He entered with the exaggerated solemnity of a very young man who
knows for the first time a grave bereavement, and feels the momentary
importance it confers upon him. Fanny, trying to regard him without a
smile, grimaced; decorous behaviour was at all times impossible to her,
for she neither understood its nature nor felt its obligation. In a few
minutes she smiled unrestrainedly, and spoke the things that rose to her
lips.

'I've been keeping a secret from you,' said Horace, in the low voice
which had to express his sorrow,--for he could not preserve a gloomy
countenance with Fanny before him. 'But I can tell you now.'

'A secret? And what business had you to keep secrets from me?'

'It's about Mrs. Damerel. When I was at the seaside she told me who she
really is. She's my aunt--my mother's sister. Queer, isn't it? Of course
that makes everything different. And she's going to ask you to come and
see her. It'll have to be put off a little--now; but not very long, I
dare say, as she's a relative. You'll have to do your best to plea