‘No harm whatever, Horace--believe me. I have only given her an opportunity of showing what she really is. You see now that she thinks of nothing at all but money and selfish pleasures. Compare her, my dear, with such a girl as Winifred Chittle. I only mean--just to show you the difference between a lady and such a girl as Fanny. She has treated you abominably, my poor boy. And what would she bring you? Not that I wish you to marry for money. I have seen too much of the world to be so foolish, so wicked. But when there _are_ sweet, clever, lady-like girls, with large incomes--! And a handsome boy like you! You may blush, but there’s no harm in telling the truth. You are far too modest. You don’t know how you look in the eyes of an affectionate, thoughtful girl--like Winifred, for instance. It’s dreadful to think of you throwing yourself away! My dear, it may sound shocking to you, but Fanny French isn’t the sort of girl that men _marry_.’ Horace showed himself startled. ‘You are so young,’ pursued the mature lady, with an indulgent smile. ‘You need the advice of some one who knows the world. In years to come, you will feel very grateful to me. Now don’t let us talk any more of that, just now; but tell me something about Nancy. How much longer does she mean to stay in Cornwall?’ He answered absently. ‘She talks of another month or two.’ ‘But what have her guardians to say to that? Why, she has been away for nearly half a year. How can that be called living at the old house?’ ‘It’s no business of mine.’ ‘Nor of mine, you mean to say. Still, it does seem rather strange. I suppose she is quite to be trusted?’ ‘Trusted? What harm can come to her? She’s keeping out of Sam Barmby’s way, that’s all. I believe he plagued her to marry him. A nice husband for Nancy!’ ‘I wish we had taken to each other,’ said Mrs. Damerel musingly. ‘I think she was a little jealous of the attention I had paid to _you_. But perhaps we shall do better some day. And I’m quite content so long as _you_ care a little for me, dear boy. You’ll never give me up, will you?’ It was asked with unusual show of feeling; she leaned forward, her eyes fixed tenderly upon the boy’s face. ‘You would never let a Fanny French come between us, Horace dear?’ ‘I only wish you hadn’t brought her among your friends.’ ‘Some day you will be glad of what I did. Whatever happens, I am your best friend--the best and truest friend you will ever have. You will know it some day.’