“Oh, Lavinia, don’t, don’t! I shall never dare to let you have the cheque again,” she wailed.
“Where is it that you are going?”
“He has not told me,” Nancy whispered back again. “To Calais, I think, or else up to Lille. We are to be away all the week.”
“Until Mr. Lockett and his friend are gone,” thought Lavinia. “Nancy, how can he find money for it?”
“He has some napoleons in his pocket—borrowed yesterday, I think, from old Griffin.”
Lavinia understood. Old Griffin, as Nancy styled him, had been careless of his money since his very slight attack of paralysis; he would freely lend to any one who asked him. She had not the slightest doubt that Captain Fennel had borrowed of him—and not for the first time.
It was on Wednesday morning that they went away, and for the rest of the week Lavinia was at peace. She changed the cheques at the bank as before, and paid the outstanding debts. But it left her so little to go on with, that she really knew not how she should get through the months until midsummer.
On Friday two of the Miss Bosanquets called. Hearing she was alone, they came to ask her to dine with them in the evening. Lavinia did so. But upon returning home at night, the old horror of going into the house came on again. Lavinia was in despair; she had hoped it had passed away for good.
On Saturday morning at market she met Madame Carimon, who invited her for the following day, Sunday. Lavinia hesitated. Glad enough indeed she was at the prospect of being taken out of her solitary home for a happy day at Mary Carimon’s; but she shrank from again risking the dreadful feeling which would be sure to attack her when going into the house at night.
“You must come, Lavinia,” cheerily urged Madame Carimon. “I have invited the English teacher at Madame Deauville’s school; she has no friends here, poor thing.”