LITMIR.BIZ

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Nancy. “I have not heard from them for ages. Why now—is it not odd?—that Madame Carimon should mention the Peckhams last night, and I receive a letter from them this morning?”

      “I supposed it might be from London, with your remittance,” said Mr. Fennel to his wife. “It is due, is it not?”

      “Oh, that came on Saturday, Edwin,” she said, as she opened her letter.

      “Came on Saturday!” echoed Captain Fennel ungraciously, as if disputing the assertion.

      “By the afternoon post; you were at Drecques, you know.”

      “The money came? Your money?”

      “Yes,” said Nancy, who had stepped to the window to read her letter, for it was a dark day, and stood there with her back to the room.

      “And where is it?” demanded he.

      “I gave it to Lavinia. I always give it to her.”

      Captain Fennel glared at his wife for a moment, then smoothed his face to its ordinary placidity, and turned to Lavinia.

      “Will you be good enough to hand over to me my wife’s money, Miss Preen?”

      “No,” she answered quietly.

      “I must trouble you to do so, when breakfast shall be finished.”

      “I cannot,” pursued Lavinia. “I have paid it away.”

      “That I do not believe. I claim it from you in right of my wife; and I shall enforce the claim.”

      “The money is Nancy’s, not yours,” said Lavinia. “In consequence of your having stopped her share last quarter in London, I was plunged here into debt and great inconvenience. Yesterday morning I went out to settle the debts—and it has taken the whole of her money to do it. That is the state of things, Captain Fennel.”

      “I am in debt here myself,” retorted he, but not angrily. “I owe money to my tailor and bootmaker; I owe an account at the chemist’s; I want money in my pockets—and I must indeed have it.”

      “Not from me,” returned Lavinia.

      Edwin Fennel broke into a little access of temper. He dashed his serviette on the table, strode to the window, and roughly caught his wife by the arm. She cried out.

      “How dared you hand your money to any one but me?” he asked in a low voice of passion.

      “But how are we to live if I don’t give it to Lavinia for the housekeeping?” returned Nancy, bursting into tears. “It takes all we have; her share and mine; every farthing of it.”

      “Let my sister alone, Mr. Fennel,” spoke up Lavinia with authority. “She is responsible for the debts we contract in this house, just as much as I am, and she must contribute her part to pay them. You ought to be aware that the expenses are now increased by nearly a third; I assure you I hardly like to face the difficulties I see before me.”

      “Do you suppose I can stop in the place without some loose cash to keep me going?” he asked calmly. “Is that reasonable, Miss Lavinia?”

      “And do you suppose I can keep you and Ann here without her money to help me to do it?” she rejoined. “Perhaps the better plan will be for me to take up my abode elsewhere, and leave the house to you and Ann to do as you please in it.”

      Captain Fennel dropped his argument, returned to the table, and went on with his breakfast. The last words had startled him. Without Lavinia, which meant without her money, they could not live in the house at all.

      Matters were partly patched up in the course of the day. Nancy came upstairs to Lavinia, begging and praying, as if she were praying for her life, for a little ready money for her husband—just a hundred francs. Trembling and sobbing, she confessed that she dared not return to him without it; she should be too frightened at his anger.

      And Lavinia gave it to her.

      IX

      Matters went on to the spring. There were no outward differences in the Petite Maison Rouge, but it was full of an undercurrent of discomfort. At least for Lavinia. Captain Fennel was simply to her an incubus; and now and again petty accounts of his would be brought to the door by tradespeople who wanted them settled. As to keeping up the legitimate payments, she could not do it.

      March was drawing to an end, when a surprise came to them. Lavinia received a letter from Paris, written by Colonel Selby. He had been there for two days on business, he said, and purposed returning viâ Sainteville, to take a passing glimpse at herself and her sister. He hoped to be down that afternoon by the three-o’clock train, and he asked them to meet him at the Hôtel des Princes afterwards, and to stay and dine with him. He proposed crossing to London by the night boat.

      Lavinia read the letter aloud. Nancy went into ecstasies, for a wonder; she had been curiously subdued in manner lately. Edwin Fennel made no remark, but his pale face wore a look of thought.

      During the morning he betook himself to the Rue Lothaire to call upon Mr. Griffin; and he persuaded that easy-natured old gentleman to take advantage of the sunny day and make an excursion en voiture to the nearest town, a place called Pontipette. Of course the captain went also, as his companion.

      Colonel Selby arrived at three. Lavinia and Nancy met him at the station, and went with him in the omnibus to the hotel. They then showed him about Sainteville, to which he was a stranger, took him to see their domicile, the little red house (which he did not seem to admire), and thence to Madame Carimon’s. In the Buttermead days, the colonel and Mary Featherston had been great friends. He invited her and her husband to join them at the table d’hôte dinner at five o’clock.

      Lavinia and Nancy went home again to change their dresses for it. Nancy put on a pretty light green silk, which had been recently modernized. Mrs. Selby had kept up an extensive wardrobe, and had left it between the two sisters.

      “You should wear your gold chain and locket,” remarked Lavinia, who always took pride in her sister’s appearance. “It will look very nice upon that dress.”

      She alluded to a short, thick chain of gold, the gold locket attached to it being set round with pearls, Nancy’s best ornament; nay, the only one she had of any value; it was the one she had worn at Miss Bosanquet’s celebrated party. Nancy made no answer. She was turning red and white.

      “What’s the matter?” cried Lavinia.

      The matter was, that Mr. Edwin Fennel had obtained possession of the chain and locket more than a month ago. Silly Nancy confessed with trembling lips that she feared he had pledged it.

      Or sold it, thought Lavinia. She felt terribly vexed and indignant. “I suppose, Ann, it will end in his grasping everything,” she said, “and starving us out of house and home: myself, at any rate.”

      “He expects money from his brother James, and then he will get it back for me,” twittered Nancy.

      Monsieur Jules Carimon was not able to come to the table d’hôte; his duties that night would detain him at the college until seven o’clock. It happened so on occasion. Colonel Selby sat at one end of their party, Lavinia at the other; Mary Carimon and Nancy between them. A gentleman was on the other side of Lavinia whom she did not particularly notice; and, upon his asking the waiter for something, his voice seemed to strike upon her memory. Turning, she saw that it was the tall Englishman they had seen on the pier some months before in the shepherd’s plaid, the lawyer named Lockett. He recognized her face at the same moment, and they entered into conversation.

      “Are you making any stay at Sainteville?” she inquired.

      “For a few days. I must be back in London on Monday morning.”

      Colonel Selby’s attention was attracted to the speakers. “What, is it you, Lockett?” he exclaimed.

      Mr. Lockett bent forward to look beyond Lavinia and Madame Carimon. “Why, colonel, are you here?” he cried. So it was evident that they knew one another.

      But you can’t talk very much across people at a table d’hôte;

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