“It seems that her husband, a clergyman at Kensington, fell across Major Smith last week in London, and put some pretty close questions to him about the old man, for they had been made uneasy by his letters of late. The major——”
“What business had the major in London?” questioned Captain Fennel impatiently.
“You can ask him,” said Charles equably, “I didn’t. He is back again. Well, Major Smith, being questioned, made no bones about it at all; said Griffin and Griffin’s money both wanted looking after. Upon that, the daughter came straight off, arriving here on Sunday morning; she settled things yesterday, and has carried her father away to-day. He was as pleased as Punch, poor childish old fellow, at the prospect of a voyage in the boat.”
Whether this information put a check upon any little plan Captain Fennel may have been entertaining, Charles Palliser could not positively know; but he thought he had never seen so evil an eye as the one glaring upon him. Only for a moment; just a flash; and then the face was smoothed again. Charley had his ideas—and all his wits about him; and old Griffin had babbled publicly.
Captain Fennel strolled by his side towards the port, talking of Pontipette and other matters of indifference. When in sight of the harbour, he halted.
“I must wish you good-day now, Palliser; I have letters to write,” said he; and walked briskly back again.
Lavinia and Nancy were sitting together in the salon when he reached home. Nancy was looking scared.
“Edwin,” she said, leaving her chair to meet him—“Edwin, what do you think Lavinia has been saying? That she is going to leave us.”
“Oh, indeed,” he carelessly answered.
“But it is true, Edwin; she means it.”