Beatrice had not as yet gained Fanny’s co-operation in the commercial scheme now being elaborated; though of far more amiable nature than Mrs. Peachey, she heartily hoped that the girl might be disappointed in her expectations from Mr. Lord’s will. An hour later, she walked along Grove Lane, and saw for herself that Fanny’s announcement was accurate; the close-drawn blinds could mean but one thing. To-day there was little likelihood of learning particulars, but on the morrow Fanny might perchance hear something from Horace Lord. However, the evening brought a note, hand-delivered by some stranger. Horace wrote only a line or two, informing Fanny that his father had died about eight o’clock that morning, and adding: ‘Please be at home to-morrow at twelve.’ At twelve next day Fanny received her lover alone in the drawing-room. He entered with the exaggerated solemnity of a very young man who knows for the first time a grave bereavement, and feels the momentary importance it confers upon him. Fanny, trying to regard him without a smile, grimaced; decorous behaviour was at all times impossible to her, for she neither understood its nature nor felt its obligation. In a few minutes she smiled unrestrainedly, and spoke the things that rose to her lips. ‘I’ve been keeping a secret from you,’ said Horace, in the low voice which had to express his sorrow,--for he could not preserve a gloomy countenance with Fanny before him. ‘But I can tell you now.’ ‘A secret? And what business had you to keep secrets from me?’ ‘It’s about Mrs. Damerel. When I was at the seaside she told me who she really is. She’s my aunt--my mother’s sister. Queer, isn’t it? Of course that makes everything different. And she’s going to ask you to come and see her. It’ll have to be put off a little--now; but not very long, I dare say, as she’s a relative. You’ll have to do your best to please her.’ ‘I’m sure I shan’t put myself out of the way. People must take me as they find me.’ ‘Now don’t talk like that, Fanny. It isn’t very kind--just now. I thought you’d be different to-day.’ ‘All right.--Have you anything else to tell me?’ Horace understood her significant glance, and shook his head. ‘I’ll let you know everything as soon as I know myself.’ Having learnt the day and hour of Mr. Lord’s funeral, Ada and Fanny made a point of walking out to get a glimpse of it. The procession of vehicles in Grove Lane excited their contempt, so far was it from the splendour they had anticipated. ‘There you are!’ said Ada; ‘I shouldn’t wonder if it’s going to be a jolly good take in for you, after all. If he’d died worth much, they wouldn’t have buried him like that.’