Not long afterwards Nancy heard a new foot in the passage, and her
brother made his appearance. Horace had good looks, but his face
showed already some of the unpleasant characteristics which time had
developed on that of Stephen Lord, and from which the daughter was
entirely free; one judged him slow of intellect and weakly
self-willed. His hair was of pale chestnut, the silky pencillings of
his moustache considerably darker. His cheek, delicately pink and
easily changing to a warmer hue, his bright-coloured lips, and the
limpid glistening of his eyes, showed him of frail constitution; he
was very slim, and narrow across the shoulders. The fashion of his
attire tended to a dandiacal extreme,--modish silk hat, lavender
necktie, white waistcoat, gaiters over his patent-leather shoes,
gloves crushed together in one hand, and in the other a bamboo cane.
For the last year or two he had been progressing in this direction,
despite his father's scornful remarks and his sister's good-natured
mockery.

'Father in yet?' he asked at the door of the dining-room, in subdued
voice.

Nancy nodded, and the young man withdrew to lay aside his outdoor
equipments.

'What sort of temper?' was his question when he returned.

'Pretty good--until I spoilt it.'

Horace exhibited a pettish annoyance.

'What on earth did you do that for? I want to have a talk with him