Not long afterwards Nancy heard a new foot in the passage, and her brother made his appearance. Horace had good looks, but his face showed already some of the unpleasant characteristics which time had developed on that of Stephen Lord, and from which the daughter was entirely free; one judged him slow of intellect and weakly self-willed. His hair was of pale chestnut, the silky pencillings of his moustache considerably darker. His cheek, delicately pink and easily changing to a warmer hue, his bright-coloured lips, and the limpid glistening of his eyes, showed him of frail constitution; he was very slim, and narrow across the shoulders. The fashion of his attire tended to a dandiacal extreme,--modish silk hat, lavender necktie, white waistcoat, gaiters over his patent-leather shoes, gloves crushed together in one hand, and in the other a bamboo cane. For the last year or two he had been progressing in this direction, despite his father’s scornful remarks and his sister’s good-natured mockery. ‘Father in yet?’ he asked at the door of the dining-room, in subdued voice. Nancy nodded, and the young man withdrew to lay aside his outdoor equipments. ‘What sort of temper?’ was his question when he returned. ‘Pretty good--until I spoilt it.’ Horace exhibited a pettish annoyance. ‘What on earth did you do that for? I want to have a talk with him to-night.’ ‘About what?’ ‘Oh, never mind; I’ll tell you after.’ Both kept their voices low, as if afraid of being overheard in the next room. Horace began to nibble at a biscuit; the hour of his return made it unnecessary for him, as a rule, to take anything before dinner, but at present he seemed in a nervous condition, and acted mechanically. ‘Come out into the garden, will you?’ he said, after receiving a brief explanation of what had passed between Nancy and her father. ‘I’ve something to tell you.’ His sister carelessly assented, and with heads uncovered they went through the house into the open air. The garden was but a strip of ground, bounded by walls of four feet high; in the midst stood a laburnum, now heavy with golden bloom, and at the end grew a holly-bush, flanked with laurels; a border flower-bed displayed Stephen Lord’s taste and industry. Nancy seated herself on a rustic bench in the shadow of the laburnum, and Horace stood before her, one of the branches in his hand. ‘I promised Fanny to take her to-morrow night,’ he began awkwardly. ‘Oh, you have?’ ‘And we’re going together in the morning, you know.’ ‘I know now. I didn’t before,’ Nancy replied. ‘Of course we can make a party in the evening.’ ‘Of course.’ Horace looked up at the ugly house-backs, and hesitated before proceeding. ‘That isn’t what I wanted to talk about,’ he said at length. ‘A very queer thing has happened, a thing I can’t make out at all.’ The listener looked her curiosity.