she began to affect a mannishness of bearing, a
bluntness of speech, such as found favour at De Crespigny Park. In a
few weeks she had resumed friendly intercourse with Mrs. Peachey and
her sisters, and spent an occasional evening at their house. Her father
asked no questions; she rarely saw him except at meals. A stranger must
have observed the signs of progressive malady in Mr. Lord's face, but
Nancy was aware of nothing to cause uneasiness; she thought of him as
suffering a little from 'gout;' elderly people were of course subject
to such disorders. On most days he went to business; if he remained
at home, Mary attended him assiduously, and he would accept no other
ministration.

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 th