“And from your old friend, Jane Peckham, Nancy,” struck in Lavinia. “I recognize her handwriting.”
“I am glad,” exclaimed 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.”