"Don't move—don't stir!" cried Fanny, and she took from her dress an envelope, the edge of which she placed between Phœbe's teeth. "What is this?"
"A piece of paper. I'd sooner have a chocolate cream."
"You would, eh? Well, here's your chocolate cream—here's a packet of them—and if I don't tell him when he comes home, my name isn't Fanny Lethbridge."
This remark caused Phœbe to open her eyes very quickly, and the colour on her face to come and go. Fanny's right hand was behind her back.
"Tell whom, Fanny?"
"'Tell whom, Fanny?'" mimicked Fanny. "Now is there more than one Frederick Cornwall, Esq., in the world?"
"There may be—in the London Directory."
"But they don't all write letters from Switzerland to Camden Town, do they?"
"Have you received another letter from Mr. Cornwall, Fanny?"
"Yes, I have; and here it is. It came this morning."