rowing yourself
away! My dear, it may sound shocking to you, but Fanny French isn't the
sort of girl that men _marry_.'

Horace showed himself startled.

'You are so young,' pursued the mature lady, with an indulgent smile.
'You need the advice of some one who knows the world. In years to come,
you will feel very grateful to me. Now don't let us talk any more of
that, just now; but tell me something about Nancy. How much longer does
she mean to stay in Cornwall?'

He answered absently.

'She talks of another month or two.'

'But what have her guardians to say to that? Why, she has been away for
nearly half a year. How can that be called living at the old house?'

'It's no business of mine.'

'Nor of mine, you mean to say. Still, it does seem rather strange. I
suppose she is quite to be trusted?'

'Trusted? What harm can come to her? She's keeping out of Sam Barmby's
way, that's all. I believe he plagued her to marry him. A nice husband
for Nancy!'

'I wish we had taken to each other,' said Mrs. Damerel musingly. 'I
think she was a little jealous of the attention I had paid to _you_. But
perhaps we shall do better some day. And I'm quite content so long as
_you_ care a little for me, dear boy. You'll never give me up, will
you?'

It was asked with unusual show of feeling; she leaned forward, her eyes
fixed tenderly upon the boy's face.

'You would never let a Fanny French come between us, Horace dear?'

'I only wish you hadn't brought her among your friends.'

'Some day you will be glad of what I did. Whatever happens, I am your
best friend--the best and truest friend you will ever have. You will
know it some day.'

The voice impressed Horace, its emotion was so true. Several times
through the day he recalled and thought of it. As yet he had felt
nothing like affection for Mrs. Damerel, but before their next meeting
an impulse he did not try to account for caused him to write her
a letter--simply to assure her that he was not ungrateful for her
kindness. The reply that came in a few hours surprised and touched him,
for it repeated in yet warmer words all she had spoken. 'Let me be in
the place of a mother to you, dear Horace. Think of me as if I were your
mother. If I were your mother indeed, I could not love you more.' He
mused over this, and received from it a sense of comfort which was quite
new to him.

All through the winter he had been living as a gentleman of assured
independence. This was man