‘You’ve time enough,’ said Nancy.
’And, you know, after all it’s a historical
event. In the year 3000 it will be ‘set’
in an examination paper, and poor wretches will get
plucked because they don’t know the date.’
This was quite a new aspect of the matter to Jessica
Morgan. She pondered it, and smiled.
‘Yes, I suppose it will. But we should
have to be out so late.’
‘Why not, for once? It needn’t be
later than half-past eleven.’ Nancy broke
off and gesticulated. ’That’s just
why I want to go! I should like to walk about
all night, as lots of people will. The public-houses
are going to be kept open till two o’clock.’
‘Do you want to go into public-houses?’
asked Jessica, laughing.
’Why not? I should like to. It’s
horrible to be tied up as we are; we’re not
children. Why can’t we go about as men do?’
‘Won’t your father make any objection?’
asked Jessica.
’We shall take Horace with us. Your people
wouldn’t interfere, would they?’
’I think not. Father is away in Yorkshire,
and will be till the end of the week. Poor mother
has her rheumatism. The house is so dreadfully
damp. We ought never to have taken it. The
difference of rent will all go in doctors’ bills.—I
don’t think mother would mind; but I must be
back before twelve, of course.’
‘I don’t see the “of course,"’
Nancy returned impatiently, ’but we could manage
that. I’ll speak to the Pasha to-night,
and either come, or let you have a note, to-morrow
morning. If there’s any objection, I’m
not sure that I shan’t make it the opportunity
for setting up my standard of revolt. But I don’t
like to do that whilst the Pasha is out of sorts—it
might make him worse.’
‘You could reason with him quietly.’
’Reason with the Pasha—How innocent
you are, Jess! How unworldly! It always
refreshes me to hear you talk.’
Only twelve months ago Stephen Lord had renewed the
lease of his house for a period of seven years.
Nancy, had she been aware of this transaction, would
assuredly have found courage to enter a protest, but
Mr. Lord consulted neither son nor daughter on any
point of business; but for this habit of acting silently,
he would have seemed to his children a still more
arbitrary ruler than they actually thought him.
The dwelling consisted of but eight rooms, one of
which, situated at the rear of the entrance passage,
served Mr. Lord as sitting-room and bed-chamber; it
overlooked a small garden, and afforded a side glimpse
of the kitchen with its outer appurtenances. In
the front room the family took meals. Of the
chambers in the storey above, one was Nancy’s,
one her brother’s; the third had, until six years
ago, been known as ‘Grandmother’s room,’
and here its occupant, Stephen Lord’s mother,
died at the age of seventy-eight. Wife of a Norfolk
farmer, and mother of nine children, she was one of
the old-world women whose thoughts found abundant
occupation in the cares and pleasures of home.
Hardship she had never known, nor yet luxury; the
old religion, the old views of sex and of society,
endured with her to the end.
