“No,” replied Lavinia.
“He is staying here, I believe, or has been.”
“Not that I know of,” said Lavinia. “I never heard his name.”
“Changed it again, probably,” carelessly observed the young man.
“Is Dangerfield not his true name, then?”
“Just as much as it is mine, madam. His real name is Fennel; but he has found it convenient to drop that on occasion.”
Now it was a curious fact that Nancy did not hear the name which the stranger had given as the true one. Her attention was diverted by some men who were working at the mud in the harbour, for it was low water, and who were loudly disputing together. Nancy had moved to the side of the pier to look down at them.
“Is he a swindler, that Mr. Dangerfield?” asked she, half-turning her head to speak. But the stranger did not answer.
As to Lavinia, the avowal had struck her speechless. She glanced at Captain Fennel. He had his back to them, and stood immovable, apparently unconcerned, possibly not having heard. A thought struck her—and frightened her.
“Do you know that Mr. Dangerfield yourself?” she asked the stranger, in a tone of indifference.