Nancy did not recognise this symptom of moral
growth. She believed herself to have become indifferent to her husband,
and only wondered that she did not hate him. Her heart seemed to spend
all its emotion on the little being to whom she had given life--a
healthy boy, who already, so she fancied, knew a difference between his
mother and his nurse, and gurgled a peculiar note of contentment when
lying in her arms. Whether wife or not, she claimed every privilege of
motherhood. Had the child been a weakling, she could not have known this
abounding solace: the defect would have reproached her. But from the day
of his birth he manifested so vigorous a will to live, clung so hungrily
to the fountain-breast, kicked and clamoured with such irresistible
self-assertion, that the mother's pride equalled her tenderness. 'My own
brave boy! My son!' Wonderful new words: honey upon the lips and rapture
to the ear. She murmured them as though inspired with speech never
uttered by mortal.

The interval of a day between her journeys to see the child taxed her
patience; but each visit brought a growth of confidence. No harm would
befall him: Mary had chosen wisely.

Horace kept aloof and sent no message. When at length she wrote to him
a letter all of sisterly kindness, there came a stinted reply. He
said that he was going away for a holiday, and might be absent until
September. 'Don't bother about me. You shall hear again before long.
There's just a chance that I may go in for business again, with prospect
of making money. Particulars when I see you.'

Nancy found this note awaiting her after a day's absence from home, and
with it another. To her surprise, Mrs. Damerel had written. 'I called
early this afternoon, wishing particularly to see you. Will you please
let me know when I should find you at home? It is about Horace that
I want to speak.' It began with 'My dear Nancy,' and ended, 'Yours
affectionately.' Glad of the opportunity thus offered, she answered at
once, making an appointment for the next day.

When Mrs. Damerel came, Nancy was even more struck than at their former
meeting with her resemblance to Horace. Eyes and lips recalled Horace at
every moment. This time, the conversation began more smoothly. On both
sides appeared a disposition to friendliness, though Nancy only marked
her distrust in the hope of learning more about this mysterious relative
and of being useful to her brother.

'You have a prejudice against me,'