‘Shall you go?’
’Well, it’s very awkward. I want
to go somewhere else on Saturday, with Fanny.
But I didn’t see how to refuse.’
Nancy wore a look of grave reflection, and kept silence.
‘It isn’t a bad thing, you know,’
pursued her brother, ’to have a friend of that
sort. There’s no knowing what use she might
be, especially just now.’
His tone caused Nancy to look up.
‘Why just now?’
‘I’ll tell you after I’ve had a
talk with father to-night,’ Horace replied,
setting his countenance to a show of energetic resolve.
‘Shall I guess what you’re going to talk
about?’
‘If you like.’
She gazed at him.
’You’re surely not so silly as to tell
father about all that nonsense?’
‘What nonsense?’ exclaimed the other indignantly.
‘Why, with Fanny French.’
‘You’ll find that it’s anything
but nonsense,’ Horace replied, raising his brows,
and gazing straight before him, with expanded nostrils.
‘All right. Let me know the result.
It’s time to go in.’
Horace sat alone for a minute or two, his legs at
full length, his feet crossed, and the upper part
of his body bent forward. He smiled to himself,
a smile of singular fatuity, and began to hum a popular
tune.
When they assembled at table, Mr. Lord had recovered
his moderate cheerfulness. Essentially, he was
anything but ill-tempered; Horace and Nancy were far
from regarding him with that resentful bitterness
which is produced in the victims of a really harsh
parent. Ten years ago, as they well remembered,
anger was a rare thing in his behaviour to them, and
kindness the rule. Affectionate he had never
shown himself; reserve and austerity had always distinguished
him. Even now-a-days, it was generally safe to
anticipate mildness from him at the evening meal.
In the matter of eating and drinking his prudence
notably contradicted his precepts. He loved strong
meats, dishes highly flavoured, and partook of them
without moderation. At table his beverage was
ale; for wine—unless it were very sweet
port—he cared little; but in the privacy
of his own room, whilst smoking numberless pipes of
rank tobacco, he indulged freely in spirits.
The habit was unknown to his children, but for some
years he had seldom gone to bed in a condition that
merited the name of sobriety.
When the repast was nearly over, Mr. Lord glanced
at his son and said unconcernedly:
’You have heard that Nancy wants to mix with
the rag-tag and bobtail to-morrow night?’
‘I shall take care of her,’ Horace replied,
starting from his reverie.
’Doesn’t it seem to you rather a come-down
for an educated young lady?’
‘Oh, there’ll be lots of them about.’
’Will there? Then I can’t see much
difference between them and the servant girls.’
