Nancy was no longer inclined to study, and cared little for reading of any sort. That new book on Evolution, which she had brought from the library just before Jubilee Day, was still lying about; a dozen times she had looked at it with impatience, and reminded herself that it must be returned. Evolution! She already knew all about Darwinism, all she needed to know. If necessary she could talk about it--oh, with an air. But who wanted to talk about such things? After all, only priggish people,--the kind of people who lived at Champion Hill. Or idiots like Samuel Bennett Barmby, who bothered about the future of the world. What was it to _her_--the future of the world? She wanted to live in the present, to enjoy her youth. An evening like that she had spent in the huge crowd, with a man like Crewe to amuse her with his talk, was worth whole oceans of ‘culture.’ ‘Culture’ she already possessed, abundance of it. The heap of books she had read! Last winter she had attended a course of lectures, delivered by ‘a young University gentleman with a tone of bland omniscience, on ‘The History of Hellenic Civilisation;’ her written answers to the little ‘test papers’ had been marked ‘very satisfactory.’ Was it not a proof of culture achieved? Education must not encroach upon the years of maturity. Nature marked the time when a woman should begin to live. There was poor Jessica. As July drew on, Jessica began to look cadaverous, ghostly. She would assuredly break down long before the time of her examination. What a wretched, what an absurd existence! Her home, too, was so miserable. Mrs. Morgan lay ill, unable to attend to anything; if she could not have a change of air, it must soon be all over with her. But they had no money, no chance of going to the seaside. It happened at length that Mr. Lord saw Jessica one evening, when she had come to spend an hour in Grove Lane. After her departure, he asked Nancy what was the matter with the girl, and Nancy explained the situation. ‘Well, why not take her with you, when you go away?’ ‘I didn’t know that I was going away, father. Nothing has been said of it.’ ‘It’s your own business. I leave you to make what plans you like.’ Nancy reflected. ‘_You_ ought to have a change,’ she said considerately. ‘It would do you good. Suppose we all go to Teignmouth? I should think that would suit you.’ ‘Why Teignmouth?’ ‘I enjoyed it last year. And the lodgings were comfortable. We could have the same, from the first week in August.’ ‘How do you know?’ ‘I wrote the other day, and asked,’ Nancy replied with a smile. But Mr. Lord declined to leave home. Mary Woodruff did her best to persuade him, until he angrily imposed silence. In a day or two he said to Nancy: ‘If you wish to go to Teignmouth, take Jessica and her mother. People mustn’t die for want of a five-pound note. Make your arrangements, and let me know what money you’ll need.’ ‘It’s very kind of you, father.’