‘I’ve something rather important to speak about, father,’ Horace began, when he had puffed for a few minutes in silence. ‘Oh? What’s that?’ ‘You remember telling me, when I was one and twenty, that you wished me to work my way up, and win an income of my own, but that I could look to you for help, if ever there was need of it--?’ Yes, Stephen remembered. He had frequently called it to mind, and wondered whether it was wisely said, the youth’s character considered. ‘What of that?’ he returned, still genially. ‘Do you think of starting a new line of ocean steamships?’ ‘Well, not just yet,’ Horace answered, with an uncertain laugh. ‘I have something more moderate in view. I may start a competition with the P. and O. presently.’ ‘Let’s hear about it.’ ‘I dare say it will surprise you a little. The fact is, I--I am thinking of getting married.’ The father did not move, but smoke ceased to issue from his lips, and his eyes, fixed upon Horace, widened a little in puzzled amusement. ‘Thinking of it, are you?’ he said, in an undertone, as one speaks of some trifle. ‘No harm in thinking. Too many people do it without thinking at all.’ ‘I’m not one of that kind,’ said Horace, with an air of maturity which was meant to rebuke his father’s jest. ‘I know what I’m about. I’ve thought it over thoroughly. You don’t think it too soon, I hope?’ Horace’s pipe was going out; he held it against his knee and regarded it with unconscious eyes. ‘I dare say it won’t be,’ said Mr. Lord, ‘when you have found a suitable wife.’ ‘Oh, but you misunderstand me. I mean that I have decided to marry a particular person.’ ‘And who may that be?’ ‘The younger Miss. French--Fanny.’ His voice quivered over the name; at the end he gave a gasp and a gulp. Of a sudden his lips and tongue were very dry, and he felt a disagreeable chill running down his back. For the listener’s face had altered noticeably; it was dark, stern, and something worse. But Mr. Lord could still speak with self-control. ‘You have asked her to marry you?’ ‘Yes, I have; and she has consented.’ Horace felt his courage returning, like the so-called ‘second wind’ of a runner. It seemed to him that he had gone through the worst. The disclosure was made, and had resulted in no outbreak of fury; now he could begin to plead his cause. Imagination, excited by nervous stress, brought before him a clear picture of the beloved Fanny, with fluffy hair upon her forehead and a laugh on her never-closed lips. He spoke without effort. ‘I thought that there would be no harm in asking you to help us. We should be quite content to start on a couple of hundred a year--quite. That is only about fifty pounds more than we have.’