‘Some friends I have made here. I’ll just go and speak to them.’
He hurried away. No sooner was he gone than Mrs. Damerel sprang to the window, where she could look down upon the carriage standing before the house; it was open, and in it sat two ladies, one middle-aged, the other much younger. To her vexation she could not, from this distance, clearly discern their faces; but on glancing rapidly round the room, she saw Horace’s little binocular. An instant brought it into focus upon the carriage, and what she then saw gave Mrs. Damerel such a shock, that an exclamation escaped her. Still she gazed through the glasses, and only turned away when the vehicle drove on.
Horace came up flushed and panting.
‘It’s all right. They wanted me to go for a drive, but I explained—’
He saw the binocular in Mrs. Damerel’s hand, and at the same moment read detection on her countenance. She gazed at him; he answered the look with lowering challenge.
‘Horace, that was Fanny French.’
‘So it was, aunt.’
‘What is going on between you?’
The young man took a seat on the edge of the table, and swung his leg. He looked suddenly obstinate.
‘We met by accident—here—the other day.’