“But it isn’t,” said Nancy sensibly. “It looks upon nothing but the walls.”
Walking on, they sat down upon a bench that stood back from the port, facing the harbour. Nearly opposite lay the English boat, busily loading for London. The sight made Nancy sigh.
“I wish it would bring Edwin the next time it comes in,” she said in low tones.
“When do you expect him?”
“I don’t know when,” said poor Nancy with emphasis. “Mary, I am beginning to think he stays away because he is afraid of seeing Lavinia.”
“Men are not afraid of those foolish things, Ann.”
“He is. Recollect those fits of terror he had. He used to hear her following him up and downstairs; used to see her on the landings.”
Madame Carimon found no ready answer. She had witnessed one of those fits of terror herself.
“Last night,” went on Mrs. Fennel, after a pause, “when Flore had left me and I could only shiver in my bed, and not expect to sleep, I became calm enough to ask myself why Lavinia should come back again, and what it is she wants. Can you think why, Mary?”