LITMIR.BIZ

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of bearing, a bluntness of speech, such as found favour at De Crespigny Park. In a few weeks she had resumed friendly intercourse with Mrs. Peachey and her sisters, and spent an occasional evening at their house. Her father asked no questions; she rarely saw him except at meals. A stranger must have observed the signs of progressive malady in Mr. Lord’s face, but Nancy was aware of nothing to cause uneasiness; she thought of him as suffering a little from ‘gout;’ elderly people were of course subject to such disorders. On most days he went to business; if he remained at home, Mary attended him assiduously, and he would accept no other ministration.

      Nancy was no longer inclined to study, and cared little for reading of any sort. That new book on Evolution, which she had brought from the library just before Jubilee Day, was still lying about; a dozen times she had looked at it with impatience, and reminded herself that it must be returned. Evolution! She already knew all about Darwinism, all she needed to know. If necessary she could talk about it—oh, with an air. But who wanted to talk about such things? After all, only priggish people,—the kind of people who lived at Champion Hill. Or idiots like Samuel Bennett Barmby, who bothered about the future of the world. What was it to her—the future of the world? She wanted to live in the present, to enjoy her youth. An evening like that she had spent in the huge crowd, with a man like Crewe to amuse her with his talk, was worth whole oceans of ‘culture.’

      ‘Culture’ she already possessed, abundance of it. The heap of books she had read! Last winter she had attended a course of lectures, delivered by ‘a young University gentleman with a tone of bland omniscience, on ‘The History of Hellenic Civilisation;’ her written answers to the little ‘test papers’ had been marked ‘very satisfactory.’ Was it not a proof of culture achieved? Education must not encroach upon the years of maturity. Nature marked the time when a woman should begin to live.

      There was poor Jessica. As July drew on, Jessica began to look cadaverous, ghostly. She would assuredly break down long before the time of her examination. What a wretched, what an absurd existence! Her home, too, was so miserable. Mrs. Morgan lay ill, unable to attend to anything; if she could not have a change of air, it must soon be all over with her. But they had no money, no chance of going to the seaside.

      It happened at length that Mr. Lord saw Jessica one evening, when she had come to spend an hour in Grove Lane. After her departure, he asked Nancy what was the matter with the girl, and Nancy explained the situation.

      ‘Well, why not take her with you, when you go away?’

      ‘I didn’t know that I was going away, father. Nothing has been said of it.’

      ‘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.

      ‘Never? Come to-morrow afternoon then. You can spare the afternoon. Let’s meet early somewhere. Take a bus to London Bridge. I’ll be at the north end of London Bridge at three o’clock.’

      ‘All right; I’ll be there,’ Nancy replied off-hand.

      ‘You really will? Three, sharp. I was never late at an appointment, business or pleasure.’

      ‘Which do you consider this?’ asked his companion, with a shrewd glance.

      ‘Now that’s unkind. I came here to-night on business, though. You quite understand that, didn’t you? I shouldn’t like you to make any mistake. Business, pure and simple.’

      ‘Why, of course,’ replied Nancy, with an ingenuous air. ‘What else could it be?’ And she added, ‘Don’t come any further. Ta-ta!’

      Crewe went off into the darkness.

      The next afternoon, Nancy alighted at London Bridge a full quarter of an hour late. It had been raining at intervals through the day, and clouds still cast a gloom over the wet streets. Crewe, quite insensible to atmospheric influence, came forward with his wonted brisk step and animated visage. At Miss. Lord’s side he looked rather more plebeian than when walking by himself; his high-hat, not of the newest, utterly misbecame his head, and was always at an unconventional angle, generally tilting back; his clothes, of no fashionable cut, bore the traces of perpetual hurry and multifarious impact. But he carried a perfectly new and expensive umbrella, to which, as soon as he had shaken hands with her, he drew Nancy’s attention.

      ‘A present this morning, from a friend of mine in the business. I ran into his shop to get shelter. Upon my word, I had no intention; didn’t think anything about it. However, he owed me an acknowledgment; I’ve sent him three customers from our office since I saw him last. By-the-bye, I shall have half a day at the seaside on Monday. There’s a sale of building-plots down at Whitsand. The estate agents run a complimentary special train for people going down to bid, and give a lunch before the auction begins. Not bad business.’

      ‘Are you going to bid?’ asked Nancy.

      ‘I’m going to have a look, at all events; and if I see anything that takes my fancy—. Ever been to Whitsand? I’m told it’s a growing place. I should like to get hold of a few advertising stations.—Where is it you

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