“Oh!” he cried. He gave a little laugh. “You frightened me, my dear. I thought at this time of the day you were going to give me a sermon from the depths of your moral experience, Fan. So long as it isn’t about poor Nelly, say what you please about Gaunt. What about Gaunt?” “Oh, Markham, Mr Ramsay told me--and mamma has been frightened ever since he came. What have you done with him, Markham? Don’t you remember the old General at Bordighera--and his mother? And he had just come from India, for his holiday, after years and years. And they are poor--that is to say, they are well enough off for them; but they are not like mamma and you. They have not got horses and carriages; they don’t live--as you do.” “As I do! I am the poorest little beggar living, and that is the truth, Fan.” “The poorest! Markham, you may think you can laugh at me. I am not clever; I am quite ignorant--that I know. But how can you say you are poor? You don’t know what it is to be poor. When they go away in the summer, they choose little quiet places; they spare everything they can. That is one thing I know better than you do. To say you are poor!” He rose up and came towards her, and taking her hands in his, gave them a squeeze which was painful, though he was unconscious of it. “Fan,” he said, “all that is very pretty, and true for you; but if I hadn’t been poor, do you think all this would have happened as it has done? Do you think I’d have stood by and let Nelly marry that fellow? Do you think----? Hush! there’s the mother, with news; no doubt she’s got news. Fan, what d’ye think it’ll be?” He held her hands tight, and pressed them till she had almost cried out, looking in her face with a sort of nervous smile which twitched at the corners of his mouth, looking in her eyes as if into a mirror where he could see the reflection of something, and so be spared the pain of looking directly at it. She saw that the subject which was of so much interest to her had passed clean out of his head. His own affairs were uppermost in Markham’s mind, as is generally the case whenever a man can be supposed to have any affairs at all of his own. And Frances, kept in this position, as a sort of mirror in which he could see the reflection of his mother’s face, saw Lady Markham come in, looking very pale and fatigued, with that air of having worn her outdoor dress for hours which gives a sort of haggard aspect to weariness. She gave a glance round, evidently without perceiving very clearly who was there, then sank wearily upon the sofa, loosening her cloak. “It is all over,” she said in a low tone, as if speaking to herself--“it is all over. Of course I could not come away before----” Markham let go Frances’ hands without a word. He walked away to the further window, and drew the curtain aside and looked out. Why, he could not have told, nor with what purpose--with a vague intention of making sure that the hansom which stood there so constantly was at the door.