‘You’re back early,’ said Mary, when Nancy entered the drawing-room.
‘Yes. I left Jessica to her books sooner than usual. The examination draws near.’
Quiet, sad, diligent ever, Mary kept unchanged the old domestic routine. There was the same perfect order, the same wholesome economy, as when she worked under the master’s eyes. Nancy had nothing to do but enjoy the admirable care with which she was surrounded; she took it all as a matter of course, never having considered the difference between her own home and those of her acquaintances.
Horace had dined, and was gone out again. They talked of him; Mary said that he had spoken of moving into lodgings very soon.
‘Of course he doesn’t tell us everything,’ said Nancy. ‘I feel pretty sure that he’s going to leave the office, but how he means to live I don’t understand. Perhaps Mrs. Damerel will give him money, or lend it him. I only hope she may break it off between him and Fanny.’
‘Hasn’t he told you that Fanny is often with Mrs. Damerel?’
‘With her?’ Nancy exclaimed. ‘He never said a word of it to me.’
‘He said so to me this evening, and laughed when I looked surprised.’
‘Well then, I don’t pretend to understand what’s going on. We can’t do anything.’
About nine o’clock the servant entered the room, bringing Miss. Lord a note, which had just been left by a cab-driver. Nancy, seeing that the address was in Tarrant’s hand, opened it with a flutter of joy; such a proceeding as this, openly sending a note by a messenger, could only mean that her husband no longer cared to preserve secrecy. To her astonishment, the envelope contained but a hurried line.