On the day which was understood to be Nancy’s last at Teignmouth, he brightened a little, and talked with pleasure, as it seemed, of her return on the morrow. Horace had written that he would be home this evening, but Mr. Lord spoke only of his daughter. At about six o’clock he was sitting in the garden, and Mary brought him a letter just delivered; he looked at the envelope with a smile. ‘To tell us the train she’s coming by, no doubt.’ Mary waited. When Mr. Lord had read the brief note, his face darkened, first with disappointment, then with anger. ‘Here, look at it,’ he said harshly. ‘What else was to be expected?’ ‘Dearest Father,’ wrote Nancy, ‘I am sorry that our return must be put off; we hope to get back on Friday evening. Of course this will make no difference to you.--With best love, dear father, and hoping I shall find you much better--’ ‘What does she mean by behaving in this way?’ resumed the angry voice, before Mary had read to the end. ‘What does she mean by it? Who gave her leave to stay longer? Not a word of explanation. How does she know it will make no difference to me? What does she mean by it?’ ‘The fine weather has tempted them,’ replied Mary. ‘I daresay they want to go somewhere.’ ‘What right has she to make the change at a moment’s notice?’ vociferated the father, his voice suddenly recovering its old power, his cheeks and neck suffused with red wrath. ‘And hopes she will find me better. What does _she_ care whether she finds me alive or dead?’ ‘Oh, don’t say that! You wouldn’t let her know that you were worse.’ ‘What does it mean? I hate this deceitful behaviour! She knew before, of course she knew; and she left it to the last moment, so that I couldn’t write and prevent her from staying. As if I should have wished to! As if I cared a brass farthing how long she stays, or, for that matter, whether I ever see her again!’ He checked the course of his furious speech, and stood staring at the letter. ‘What did you say?’ He spoke now in a hoarse undertone. ‘You thought they were going somewhere?’ ‘Last year there used to be steamers that went to places on certain days--’ ‘Nonsense! She wouldn’t alter all their plans for that. It’s something I am not to know--of course it is. She’s deceitful--like all women.’ He met Mary’s eye, suddenly turned upon him. His own fell before it, and without speaking again he went into the house. In half-an-hour’s time his bell rang, and not Mary, but the young servant responded. According to her directions, she knocked at the door, and, without opening it, asked her master’s pleasure. Mr. Lord said that he was going out, and would not require a meal till late in the evening. It was nearly ten o’clock when he returned. Mary, sitting in the front room, rose at his entrance.