And at this moment Horace Lord came in. He had not the fresh
appearance which usually distinguished him; his face was stained
with perspiration, his collar had become limp, the flower at his
buttonhole hung faded.

'Well, here I am. Are you going?'

'I suppose you know you have kept us waiting,' said his sister.

'Awf'ly sorry. Couldn't get here before.'

He spoke as if he had not altogether the command of his tongue, and
with a fixed meaningless smile.

'We had better not delay,' said Barmby, taking up his hat. 'Seven
o'clock. We ought to be at Charing Cross before eight; that will
allow us about three hours.'

They set forth at once. By private agreement between the girls,
Jessica Morgan attached herself to Mr. Barmby, allowing Nancy to
follow with her brother, as they walked rapidly towards Camberwell
Green. Horace kept humming popular airs; his hat had fallen a little
to the side, and he swung his cane carelessly. His sister asked him
what he had been doing all day.

'Oh, going about. I met some fellows after the procession. We had a
splendid view, up there on the top of Waterloo House.'

'Did Fanny go home?'