The words were scarcely out of her lips when Horace entered hastily, asking, before he saw that any stranger was present—
"Mother, has Fareham come back?"
"No, Horace; but you see I am engaged."
"I beg your pardon," he said, surprised by the look of agitation in the stranger's face. But he was terribly excited. "I won't stay a moment; but do please tell me papa's address. I cannot wait and knock about all day. Old Fareham is so tedious; he will take hours about it. Tell me my father's address."
Horace was not without wiles of his own. He thought it more likely that he should extract this address when somebody was there.
"Horace, I am engaged, as you can see."
"Only a moment, mother; it was something flowery—Laburnum, or Acacia, or something. If I go to the office I can get it in a moment."
The little widow rose up; something strange and terrible came over her face.
"Young gentleman," she said, "are you any relation to Mr Lycett-Landon? You will tell me if no one else will."
"Relation?" said Horace, with a laugh, "oh yes; only his son, that is all!"