‘Nancy,’ said the father, ‘I want to tell you of a change in the house. You know that Mary has been with us for twenty years. You know that for a long time we haven’t thought of her as a servant, but as a friend, and one of the best possible. It’s time now to show our gratitude. Mary will continue to help us as before, but henceforth she is one of our family. She will eat with us and sit with us; and I look to you, my girl, to make the change an easy and pleasant one for her.’ As soon as she understood the drift of her father’s speech, Nancy experienced a shock, and could not conceal it. But when silence came, she had commanded herself. An instant’s pause; then, with her brightest smile, she turned to Mary and spoke in a voice of kindness. ‘Father is quite right. Your place is with us. I am glad, very glad.’ Mary looked from Mr. Lord to his daughter, tried vainly to speak, and left the room. CHAPTER 2 His father’s contemptuous wrath had an ill effect upon Horace. Of an amiable disposition, and without independence of character, he might have been guided by a judicious parent through all the perils of his calf-love for Fanny French; thrown upon his own feeble resources, he regarded himself as a victim of the traditional struggle between prosaic age and nobly passionate youth, and resolved at all hazards to follow the heroic course--which meant, first of all, a cold taciturnity towards his father, and, as to his future conduct, a total disregard of the domestic restraints which he had hitherto accepted. In a day or two he sat down and wrote his father a long letter, of small merit as a composition, and otherwise illustrating the profitless nature of the education for which Stephen Lord had hopefully paid. It began with a declaration of rights. He was a man; he could no longer submit to childish trammels. A man must not be put to inconvenience by the necessity of coming home at early hours. A man could not brook cross-examination on the subject of his intimacies, his expenditure, and so forth. Above all, a man was answerable to no one but himself for his relations with the other sex, for the sacred hopes he cherished, for his emotions and aspirations which transcended even a man’s vocabulary.--With much more of like tenor. To this epistle, delivered by post, Mr. Lord made no answer. Horace flattered himself that he had gained a victory. There was nothing like ‘firmness,’ and that evening, about nine, he went to De Crespigny Park. As usual, he had to ring the bell two or three times before any one came; the lively notes of a piano sounded from the drawing-room, intimating, no doubt, that Mrs. Peachey had guests. The door at length opened, and he bade the servant let Miss. Fanny know that he was here; he would wait in the dining-room.