se-leaf and flower
on a white ground, served for curtains and for bed-hangings. Her carpet
was of green felt, matching in shade the foliage of the chintz. On
suspended shelves stood the books which she desired to have near her,
and round about the walls hung prints, photographs, chromolithographs,
selected in an honest spirit of admiration, which on the whole did no
discredit to Nancy's sensibilities.

To the best of Nancy's belief, her father had never seen this room.
On its completion she invited him to inspect it, but Mr. Lord coldly
declined, saying that he knew nothing, and cared nothing, about
upholstery.

His return to-day was earlier than usual. Shortly after five o'clock
Nancy heard the familiar heavy step in the passage, and went downstairs.

'Will you have a cup of tea, father?' she asked, standing by the door of
the back room, which was ajar.

'If it's ready,' replied a deep voice.

She entered the dining-room, and rang the bell. In a few minutes Mary
Woodruff appeared, bringing tea and biscuits. She was a neat, quiet,
plain-featured woman, of strong physique, and with set lips, which
rarely parted save for necessary speech. Her eyes had a singular
expression of inquietude, of sadness. A smile seldom appeared on her
face, but, when it did, the effect was unlooked for: it touched the
somewhat harsh lineaments with a gentleness so pleasing that she became
almost comely.

Having set down the tray, she went to Mr. Lord's door, gave a soft tap,
and withdrew into the kitchen.

Nancy, seated at the table, turned to greet her father. In early life,
Stephen Lord must have been handsome; his face was now rugged, of
unhealthy tone, and creased with lines betokening a moody habit. He
looked much older than his years, which were fifty-seven. Dressed with
excessive carelessness, he had the appearance rather of one at odds
with fortune than of a substantial man of business. His short beard was
raggedly trimmed; his grizzled hair began to show the scalp. Judging
from the contour of his visage, one might have credited him with a
forcible and commanding character; his voice favoured that impression;
but the countenance had a despondent cast, the eyes seemed to shun
observation, the lips suggested a sullen pride, indicative of some
defect or vice of will.

Yet in the look which he cast upon her, Nancy detected a sign of more
amiability than she had found in him of late. She addressed him with
confidence.

'Early t