om Reynolds." "He has had a bad
recitation," she thought, "and now he is going to take it out on me,"
and then she called her brother a hard and inelegant name, as people
will when angry with their dearest relatives. Had Nancy been of a
satirical nature she might have made something of her brother's adoption
of Freudian methods; but she was not, and she knew only direct-fire
warfare.

"Nancy," Henry went on, leaning towards her, "surely you are not in love
with that man?"

Had Tom been a head hunter with tin cans in his ears, Nancy would have
loved him at that moment.

"Yes, I am," she said.

Henry stared at her. It was clear she meant what she said. Then he
glanced at the letter and the book that lay in her lap, as people will
notice small things at such times. He guessed in whose handwriting the
letter was, and--the book was _Sonnets from the Portuguese_! She had
even taken to sentimental rubbish!

"Oh Nancy, can't you see that he is not worthy of you? Who are his
people? Where is he from? I wouldn't give _that_ for his future here.
He's lazy, and he's filled you up on a lot of poetry. Nancy, think well
of it before it's too late." She was gazing out the window, hardly
hearing him. She had confessed aloud, before Henry, that she loved Tom.
Henry was going on. "If you won't think of yourself, perhaps you can
think of Henry Third? What is to become of him if you go?"

Nancy turned to look at him. She felt giddy now, and she thought she was
going to cry. It would not do, however, to make a scene, when up to this
point she had acquitted herself so well. "You mean that I should give up
my life to look after your son?"

"Please don't be melodramatic. We know one another so well it isn't
necessary. I am not asking you to give up your life. I am asking you not
to throw it away, and in the meantime you have certain definite
obligations here. You are more than an aunt to Henry. Life here with him
will be far better for you than being the wife of that uncertain boy."

She allowed it to pass, but it gave the final flick to her anger. "You
are the kind of person, Henry, who is so monumentally selfish that you
think everybody who dares to cross you in any way is himself
monumentally selfish too. Now you come to me in a protective role to
save me from 'this Tom Reynolds' with a mass of ill-natured slander--and
lies--because if I go to him you will have to get a new housekeeper."

"Nancy--"

"Don't interrupt me, please.