Fanny returned to London. Partly, the slenderness of her resources gave
her no choice; partly, she had learned all there was to learn, and
would do no good by staying longer at Passy.
She arrived with thirty shillings left out of Mr. Mountjoy's timely
gift. She sought a cheap lodging, and found a room, among people who
seemed respectable, which she could have for four-and-sixpence a week,
with board at a shilling a day. This settled, she hastened to Mr.
Mountjoy's hotel brimful of her news for Mrs. Vimpany.
Everyone knows the disappointment when the one person in the world whom
you want at the moment to see and to talk with proves to be out. Then
the news has to be suppressed; the conclusions, the suspicions, the
guesses have to be postponed; the active brain falls back upon itself.
This disappointment--almost as great as that at Berne--was experienced
by Fanny Mere at the hotel.
Mr. Mountjoy was no longer there.
The landlady of the hotel, who knew Fanny, came out herself and told
her what had happened.
"He was better," she said, "but still weak. They sent him down to
Scotland in Mrs. Vimpany's care. He was to travel by quick or slow
stages, just as he felt able. And I've got the address for you. Here it
is. Oh! and Mrs. Vimpany left a message. Will you, she says, when you
write, send the letter to her and not to him? She says, you know why."