‘Oh, what a silly you are!’ she laughed, seating herself on the arm of an easy-chair. ‘Go ahead! What’s the latest?’ ‘Well, for one thing, I’ve had a very clear understanding with the gov’nor about my independence. I showed him that I meant having my own way, and he might bully as much as he liked.’ It was not thus that Horace would naturally have spoken, not thus that he thought of his father. Fanny had subdued him to her own level, poisoned him with the desires excited by her presence. And he knew his baseness; he was not ignorant of the girl’s ignoble nature. Only the fury of a virgin passion enabled him to talk, and sometimes think, as though he were in love with ideal purity. ‘I didn’t think you had the pluck,’ said Fanny, swinging one of her feet as she tittered. ‘That shows you haven’t done me justice.’ ‘And you’re going to stay out late at night?’ ‘As late as I like,’ Horace answered, crossing his arms. ‘Then where will you take me to-morrow?’ It happened that Horace was in funds just now; he had received his quarter’s salary. Board and lodging were no expense to him; he provided his own clothing, but, with this exception, had to meet no serious claim. So, in reply to Fanny’s characteristic question, he jingled coins. ‘Wherever you like.--“Dorothy,” “Ruddigore--“’ Delighted with his assent, she became more gracious, permitted a modest caress, and presently allowed herself to be drawn on to her lover’s knee. She was passive, unconcerned; no second year graduate of the pavement could have preserved a completer equanimity; it did not appear that her pulse quickened ever so slightly, nor had her eyelid the suspicion of a droop. She hummed ‘Queen of my Heart,’ and grew absent in speculative thought, whilst Horace burned and panted at the proximity of her white flesh. ‘Oh, how I do love you, Fanny!’ She trod playfully on his toe. ‘You haven’t told the old gentleman yet?’ ‘I--I’m thinking about it. But, Fanny, suppose he was to--to refuse to do anything for us. Would it make any difference? There are lots of people who marry on a hundred and fifty a year--oh lots!’ The maiden arched her brows, and puckered her lips. Hitherto it had been taken for granted that Mr. Lord would be ready with subsidy; Horace, in a large, vague way, had hinted that assurance long ago. Fanny’s disinclination to plight her troth--she still deemed herself absolutely free--had alone interfered between the young man and a definite project of marriage. ‘What kind of people?’ she asked coldly. ‘Oh--respectable, educated people, like ourselves.’ ‘And live in apartments? Thank you; I don’t quite see myself. There isn’t a bit of hurry, dear boy. Wait a bit.’ She began to sing ‘Wait till the clouds roll by.’ ‘If you thought as much of me as I do of you--’ Tired of her position, Fanny jumped up and took a spoonful of sweet jelly from a dish on the table. ‘Have some?’ ‘Come here again. I’ve something more to tell you. Something very important.’