"Yes, sir," he borrowed it of my husband; "his remittances did not arrive from England."
Mr. Hardcastle put on his spectacles, and she noticed that his hands trembled, she thought with agitation. "I have a nephew," he said, "who lives principally upon the continent; a thankless scapegrace he is, and has caused me a world of trouble. He has not been in England for eighteen months now, and I hope he will not come to it in a hurry; but he is always threatening it."
Mrs. Dundyke was surprised. "He told us, sir, that he had come from London recently; in fact, he said—he certainly implied—that he took a principal and active part in your house in Leadenhall-street."
"All boast, madam, all boast. He has not anything to do with it, and we would not let him have. I wonder he should say that, too! He is tolerably truthful, making a confession of his shortcomings, rather than hiding them."
"Is he at Genoa still, sir?"
"At where?" asked Mr. Hardcastle, looking at Mrs. Dundyke through his spectacles, which he had been all the time adjusting.
"He went on to Genoa, sir, from Geneva. I asked whether he was there still."
"He has not been at Geneva or at Genoa," said Mr. Hardcastle; "latterly, at any rate."
"Yes he has, sir; he was at Geneva when we got to it in July, and he stayed some time. He then went on to Genoa."
"Then he has deceived me," said Mr. Hardcastle, in a vexed tone. "I don't know why he should; it does not matter to me what place he is in. What is this, madam—the order? This is not his handwriting," hastily continued Mr. Hardcastle, at the first glance, as he unfolded the paper.