He drew her upon his knee, and listened laughingly whilst the newest marvels of babyhood were laughingly related.
‘Anything from Horace?’
‘Not a word. He must be in London now; I shall write tomorrow.’
Tarrant nodded carelessly. He had the smallest interest in his wife’s brother, but could not help satisfaction in the thought that Horace was to be reputably, and even brilliantly, married. From all he knew of Horace, the probability had seemed that his marriage would be some culmination of folly.
‘I think you have something to tell me,’ Nancy said presently, when her hand had been fondled for a minute or two.
‘Nothing much, but good as far as it goes. Bunbury has asked me to write him an article every week for the first six months of ‘90. Column and a half, at two guineas a column.’
‘Three guineas a week.’
‘O rare head!’
‘So there’s no anxiety for the first half of next year, at all events,’ said Nancy, with a sigh of relief.
‘I think I can count on a margin of fifty pounds or so by midsummer—towards the debt, of course.’