Nancy nodded, and the young man withdrew to lay aside his outdoor equipments.
‘What sort of temper?’ was his question when he returned.
‘Pretty good—until I spoilt it.’
Horace exhibited a pettish annoyance.
‘What on earth did you do that for? I want to have a talk with him to-night.’
‘About what?’
‘Oh, never mind; I’ll tell you after.’
Both kept their voices low, as if afraid of being overheard in the next room. Horace began to nibble at a biscuit; the hour of his return made it unnecessary for him, as a rule, to take anything before dinner, but at present he seemed in a nervous condition, and acted mechanically.
‘Come out into the garden, will you?’ he said, after receiving a brief explanation of what had passed between Nancy and her father. ‘I’ve something to tell you.’
His sister carelessly assented, and with heads uncovered they went through the house into the open air. The garden was but a strip of ground, bounded by walls of four feet high; in the midst stood a laburnum, now heavy with golden bloom, and at the end grew a holly-bush, flanked with laurels; a border flower-bed displayed Stephen Lord’s taste and industry. Nancy seated herself on a rustic bench in the shadow of the laburnum, and Horace stood before her, one of the branches in his hand.