Horace sat in thought. Mrs. Damerel, her bright eyes subduing their gaiety to a keen reflectiveness, put several questions regarding the invalid, then for a moment meditated.
‘Well, we must hope for the best. Let me know to-morrow how he gets on—be sure you let me know. And if anything should happen—oh, but that’s too sad; we won’t talk about it.’
Again she meditated, tapping the floor, and, as it seemed, trying not to smile.
‘Don’t be downcast, my dear boy. Never meet sorrow half-way—if you knew how useful I have found it to remember that maxim. I have gone through sad, sad things—ah! But now tell me of your own affairs. Have you seen la petite?’
‘I just saw her the other evening,’ he answered uneasily.
‘Just? What does that mean, I wonder? Now you don’t look anything like so well as when you were at Scarborough. You’re worrying; yes, I know you are. It’s your nervous constitution, my poor boy. So you just saw her? No more imprudences?’
She examined his face attentively, her lips set with tolerable firmness.
‘It’s a very difficult position, you know,’ said Horace, wriggling in his chair. ‘I can’t get out of it all at once. And the truth is, I’m not sure that I wish to.’
Mrs. Damerel drew her eyebrows together, and gave a loud tap on the floor.
‘Oh, that’s weak—that’s very weak! After promising me! Now listen; listen seriously.’ She raised a finger. ‘If it goes on, I have nothing—more—whatever to do with you. It would distress me very, very much; but I can’t interest myself in a young man who makes love to a girl so very far beneath him. Be led by me, Horace, and your future will be brilliant. Prefer this young lady of Camberwell, and lose everything.’