‘It seems to me that we ought to have an understanding. You never do as I wish in a single thing. What do you mean by it?’ ‘Oh, if you’re going to be nasty--’ She made the gesture of a servant-girl who quarrels with her young man at the street-corner. ‘I can’t stand the kind of treatment you’ve given me lately,’ said Horace, with muffled anger. ‘I’ve told you I shall do just as I like.’ ‘Very well. That’s as much as to say that you care nothing about me. I’m not going to be the slave of a girl who has no sense of honour--not even of decency. If you wish me to speak to you again you must speak first.’ And he left her, Fanny laughing scornfully. It drew towards one o’clock when, having exhausted the delights of the evening, and being in a decidedly limp condition, Mrs. Damerel and her protegee drove home. Fanny said nothing of what had passed between her and Horace. The elder lady, after keeping silence for half the drive, spoke at length in a tone of indulgent playfulness. ‘So you talked a good deal with Mr. Mankelow?’ ‘Not for long. Now and then. He took me down to supper--the first time.’ ‘I’m afraid somebody will be a little jealous. I shall get into trouble. I didn’t foresee this.’ ‘Somebody must treat me in a reasonable way,’ Fanny answered, with a dry laugh. ‘I’m quite sure he will,’ said Mrs. Damerel suavely. ‘But I feel myself a little responsible, you know. Let me put you on your guard against Mr. Mankelow. I’m afraid he’s rather a dangerous man. I have heard rather alarming stories about him. You see he’s very rich, and very rich men, if they’re rather handsome as well, say and do things--you understand?’ ‘Is he really very rich?’ ‘Well, several thousands a year, and a prospect of more when relatives die. I don’t mean to say that he is a bad man. He belongs to a very good family, and I believe him perfectly honourable. He would never do any one any harm--or, if he happened to, without meaning it, I’m quite sure he’d repair it in the honourable way.’ ‘You said he was dangerous--’ ‘To a young lady who is already engaged. Confess that you think him rather good-looking.’ Having inflamed the girl’s imagination, Mrs. Damerel presently dropped the subject, and fell again into weary silence. At noon of the next day she received a call from Horace, who found her over tea and toast in her private sitting-room. The young man looked bilious; he coughed, too, and said that he must have caught fresh cold last night. ‘That house was like an oven. I won’t go to any more such places. That isn’t my idea of enjoying myself.’ Mrs. Damerel examined him with affectionate solicitude, and reflected before speaking. ‘Haven’t you been living rather fast lately?’ He avoided her eyes. ‘Not at all.’ ‘Quite sure? How much money have you spent this last month?’ ‘Not much.’