Harriet Brandt set off for Brussels in the best of spirits. Captain Pullen had pledged himself to follow her in a couple of days, and had sketched with a free hand the pleasure they would mutually enjoy in each other’s company, without the fear of Mrs. Pullen, or Miss Leyton, popping on them round the corner. Madame Gobelli also much flattered her vanity by speaking of Ralph as if he were her confessed lover, and prospective fiancé, so that, what with the new scenes she was passing through, and her anticipated good fortune, Harriet was half delirious with delight, and looked as “handsome as paint” in consequence.
Olga Brimont, on the contrary, although quietly happy in the prospect of keeping house for her brother, did not share in the transports of her Convent companion. Alfred Brimont, observed, more than once, that she seemed to visibly shrink from Miss Brandt, and took an early opportunity of asking her the reason why. But all her answer was conveyed in a shrug of the shoulders, and a request that he would not leave her at the Hotel de Saxe with the rest of the party, but take her home at once to the rooms over which she was to preside for him. In consequence, the two Brimonts said good-bye to the Gobellis and Harriet Brandt at the Brussels station, and drove to their apartments in the rue de Vienne, after which the others saw no more of them. The Baroness declared they were “a good riddance of bad rubbish,” and that she had never liked that pasty-faced Mademoiselle Brimont, and believed that she was jealous of the brilliancy and beauty of her dear ’Arriet. The Baroness had conceived one of her violent, and generally short-lived, fancies for the girl, and nothing, for the time being, was too good for her. She praised her looks and her talents in the most extravagant manner, and told everyone at the Hotel that the Baron and she had known her from infancy—that she was their ward—and that they regarded her as the daughter of the house, with various other falsehoods that made Harriet open her dark eyes with amazement, whilst she felt that she could not afford to put a sudden end to her friendship with Madame Gobelli, by denying them. Brussels is a very pretty town, full of modern and ancient interest, and there was plenty for them to see and hear during their first days there. But Harriet was resolved to defer visiting the best sights until Captain Pullen had joined them.
She went to the concerts at the Quinçonce and Wauxhall, and visited the Zoological Gardens, but she would not go to the Musée nor the Académie des Beaux Arts, nor the Cathedral of Sainte Gudule, whilst Ralph remained in Heyst. Madame Gobelli laughed at her for her reticence—called her a sly cat—said she supposed they must make up their minds to see nothing of her when the handsome Captain came to Brussels—finally sending her off in company of Bobby to walk in the Parc, or visit the Wiertz Museum. The Baroness was not equal to much walking at the best of times, and had been suffering from rheumatism lately, so that she and the Baron did most of their sight-seeing in a carriage, and left the young people to amuse themselves. Bobby was very proud to be elected Miss Brandt’s cavalier, and get out of the way of his formidable Mamma, who made his table-d’hôte life a terror to him. He was a well-grown lad and not bad-looking. In his blue eyes and white teeth, he took after his mother, but his hair was fair, and his complexion delicate. He was an anæmic young fellow and very delicate, being never without a husky cough, which, however, the Baroness seemed to consider of no consequence. He hardly ever opened his mouth in the presence of his parents, unless it were to remonstrate against the Baroness’s strictures on his appearance, or his conduct, but Harriet Brandt found he could be communicative enough, when he was alone with her. He gave her lengthy descriptions of the Red House, and the treasures which it contained—of his Mamma’s barouche lined with satin—of the large garden which they had at Holloway, with its greenhouses and hot-houses, and the numbers of people who came to visit them there.
“O! yes!” rejoined Harriet, “the Baroness has told me about them, Prince Adalbert and Prince Loris and others! She said they often came to the Red House! I should like to know them very much!”
The youth looked at her in a mysterious manner.
“Yes! they do come, very often, and plenty of other people with them; the Earl of Watherhouse and Lord Drinkwater, and Lady Mountacue, and more than I know the names of. But—but—did Mamma tell you why they come?”
“No! not exactly! To see her and the Baron, I suppose!”
“Well! yes! for that too perhaps,” stammered Bobby. “But there is another reason. Mamma is very wonderful, you know! She can tell people things they never knew before. And she has a room where—but I had better not say any more. You might repeat it to her and then she would be so angry.” The two were on their way to the Wiertz Museum at the time, and Harriet’s curiosity was excited.
“I will not, I promise you, Bobby,” she said, “what has the Baroness in that room?”
Bobby drew near enough to whisper, as he replied,
“O! I don’t know, I daren’t say, but horrible things go on there! Mamma has threatened sometimes to make me go in with her, but I wouldn’t for all the world. Our servants will never stay with us long. One girl told me before she left that Mamma was a witch, and could raise up the dead. Do you think it can be true—that it is possible?”
“I don’t know,” said Harriet, “and I don’t want to know! There are no dead that I want to see back again, unless indeed it were dear old Pete, our overseer. He was the best friend I ever had. One night our house was burned to the ground and lots of the things in it, and old Pete wrapped me up in a blanket and carried me to his cabin in the jungle, and kept me safe until my friends were able to send me to the Convent. I shall never forget that. I should like to see old Pete again, but I don’t believe the Baroness could bring him back. It wants ‘Obeah’ to do that!”
“What is ‘Obeah,’ Miss Brandt?”
“Witchcraft, Bobby!”
“Is it wicked?”
“I don’t know. I know nothing about it! But let us talk of something else. I don’t believe your Mamma can do anything more than other people, and she only says it to frighten you. But you mustn’t tell her I said so. Is this the Wiertz Museum? I thought it would be a much grander place!”
“I heard father say that it is the house Wiertz lived in, and he left it with all his pictures to the Belgian Government on condition they kept it just as it was.”
They entered the gallery, and Harriet Brandt, although not a great lover of painting in general, stood enwrapt before most of the pictures. She passed over the “Bouton de Rose” and the sacred paintings with a cursory glance, but the representation of Napoleon in Hell, being fed with the blood and bones of his victims—of the mother in a time of famine devouring her child—and of the Suicide between his good and evil angels, appeared to absorb all her senses. Her eyes fixed themselves upon the canvasses, she stood before them, entranced, enraptured, and when Bobby touched her arm as a hint to come and look at something else, she drew a long breath as though she had been suddenly aroused from sleep. Again and again she returned to the same spot, the pictures holding her with a strange fascination, which she could not shake off, and when she returned to the Hotel, she declared the first thing she should do on the following morning, would be to go back to the Wiertz Museum and gaze once more upon those inimitable figures.
“But such ’orrid subjects, my dear,” said the Baroness, “Bobby says they were all blood and bones!”
“But I like them—I like them!” replied Harriet, moving her tongue slowly over her lips, “they interest me! They are so life-like!”
“Well! to-morrow will be Thursday, you know, so I expect you will have somebody’s else’s wishes to consult! You will ’ave a letter by the early post, you may depend upon it, to say that the Captain will be with us by dinner-time!”
Harriet Brandt flushed a deep rose. It was when the colour came into her usually pale cheeks, and her eyes awakened from their slumbers and sparkled, that she looked beautiful. On the present occasion as she glanced up to see Bobby Bates regarding her with steadfast surprise and curiosity, she blushed still more.
“You’ll be ’aving a fine time of it together, you two, I expect,” continued the Baroness facetiously, “and Bobby, ’ere, will ’ave to content ’imself with me and his Papa! But we’ll all go to the theatre together to-morrow night. I’ve taken five seats for the Alcazar, which the Captain said was the house he liked best in Brussels.”
“How good you are to me!” exclaimed Harriet, as she wound her slight arms about the uncouth form of the Baroness.
“Good! Nonsense! Why! Gustave and I look upon you as our daughter, and you’re welcome to share everything that is ours. You can come and live altogether at the Red ’Ouse, if you like! But I don’t expect we shall keep you long, though I must say I should be vexed to see you throw yourself away upon an army Captain before you have seen the world a bit!”
“O! don’t talk of such a thing, pray don’t!” said the girl, hiding her face in the Baroness’s ample bosom, “you know there is nothing as yet—only a pleasant friendship.”
“He! he! he!” chuckled Madame Gobelli, “so that’s what you call a pleasant friendship, eh? I wonder what Captain Pullen calls it! I expect we shall ’ear in a few days. But what ’e thinks is of no consequence, so long as you don’t commit yourself, till you’ve looked about you a little. I do want you to meet Prince Adalbert! ’Is ’air’s like flax—such a nice contrast to yours. And you speaking French so well! You would get on first-rate together!”
Bobby did not appear to like this conversation at all.
“I call Prince Adalbert hideous,” he interposed. “Why! his face is as red as a tomato, and he drinks too much. I’ve heard Papa say so! I am sure Miss Brandt wouldn’t like him.”
“’Old your tongue,” exclaimed the Baroness, angrily, “’Ow dare you interrupt when I’m speaking to Miss Brandt? A child like you! What next, I wonder! Just mind your own business, Bobby, or I’ll send you out of the room. Go away now, do, and amuse yourself! We don’t want any boys ’ere!”
“Miss Brandt is going into the Parc with me,” said Bobby sturdily.
“Ah! well, if she is going to be so good, I ’ope you won’t worry ’er, that’s all! But if you would prefer to come out in the carriage with the Baron and me, my dear, we’ll take a drive to the Bois de Cambres.”
“All right, if Bobby can come too,” acquiesced Harriet.
“Lor! whatever do you want that boy to come with us for? ’E’ll only take up all the room with ’is long legs.”
“But we mustn’t leave him alone,” said the girl, kindly, “I shouldn’t enjoy my drive if we were to do so!”
The lad gave her a grateful glance through eyes that were already moist with the prospect of disappointment.
“Very well then,” said Madame Gobelli, “if you will ’ave your own way, ’e may come, but you must take all the trouble of ’im, ’Arriet, mind that!”
Bobby was only too happy to accompany the party, even in these humiliating circumstances, and they all set out together for the Bois de Cambres. The next day was looked forward to by Harriet Brandt as one of certain happiness, but the morning post arrived without bringing the anticipated notice from Ralph Pullen that he should join them as arranged in the afternoon. The piteous eyes that she lifted to the Baroness’s face as she discovered the defalcation, were enough to excite the compassion of anyone.
“It’s all right!” said her friend, across the breakfast table, “’E said ’e would come, so there’s no need of writing. Besides, it was much safer not! ’E couldn’t stir, I daresay, without one of those two cats, Mrs. Pullen or Miss Leyton, at ’is elbow, so ’e thought they might find out what ’e was after, and prevent ’is starting. Say they wanted to leave ’Eyst or something, just to keep ’im at their side! You mark my words, I’ve means of finding out things that you know nothing of, and I’ve just seen it written over your ’ead that ’e’ll be ’ere by dinner time, so you can go out for your morning’s jaunt in perfect comfort!”
Harriet brightened up at this prophecy, and Bobby had never had a merrier time with her than he had that morning.
But the prophecy was not fulfilled. Ralph Pullen was by that time in England with his bereaved sister-in-law, and the night arrived without the people in Brussels hearing anything of him. He had not even written a line to account for his failure to keep his engagement with them. The fact is that Captain Pullen, although as a rule most punctilious in all matters of courtesy, felt so ashamed of himself and the folly into which he had been led, that he felt that silence would be the best explanation that he had decided to break off the acquaintanceship. He had no real feeling for Harriet Brandt or anybody (except himself)—with him “out of sight” was “out of mind”—and the sad occurrence which had forced him to return to England seemed an excellent opportunity to rid himself of an undesirable entanglement. But Harriet became frantic at the nonfulfilment of his promise. Her strong feelings could not brook delay. She wanted to rush back to Heyst to demand the reason of his defalcation—and in default of that, to write, or wire to him at once and ascertain what he intended to do. But the Baroness prevented her doing either.
“Look ’ere, ’Arriet!” she said to the girl, who was working herself up into a fever, “it’s no use going on like this! ’E’ll come or ’e won’t come! Most likely you’ll see ’im to-morrow or next day, and if not, it’ll be because ’is sister won’t let ’im leave ’er, and the poor young man doesn’t know what excuse to make! Couldn’t you see ’ow that Doctor Phillips was set against the Captain joining us? ’E went most likely and told Mrs. Pullen, and she ’as dissuaded her brother from coming to Brussels. It’s ’ard for a man to go against ’is own relations, you know!”
“But he should have written,” pleaded Harriet, “it makes me look a fool!”
“Not a bit of it! Captain Pullen thinks you no fool. ’E’s more likely to be thinking ’imself one. And, after all, you know, we shall be going back to ’Eyst in a couple more days, and then you can ’ave ’im all to yourself in the evenings and scold ’im to your ’eart’s content!”
But the girl was not made of the stuff that is amenable to reason. She pouted and raved and denounced Ralph Pullen like a fury, declaring she would not speak to him when they met again,—yet lay awake at night all the same, wondering what had detained him from her side, and longing with the fierceness of a tigress for blood, to feel his lips against her own and to hear him say that he adored her. Bobby Bates stood by during this tempestuous time, very sorrowful and rather perplexed. He was not admitted to the confidence of his mother and her young friend, so that he did not quite understand why Harriet Brandt should have so suddenly changed from gay to grave, just because Captain Pullen was unable to keep his promise to join them at Brussels. He had so enjoyed her company hitherto and she had seemed to enjoy his, but now she bore the gloomiest face possible, and it was no pleasure to go out with her at all. He wondered if all girls were so—as capricious and changeable! Bobby had not seen much of women. He had been kept in the schoolroom for the better part of his life, and his Mamma had not impressed him with a great admiration for the sex. So, naturally, he thought Harriet Brandt to be the most charming and beautiful creature he had ever seen, though he was too shy to whisper the truth, even to himself. He tried to bring back the smiles to her face in his boyish way, and the gift of an abnormally large and long sucre de pomme really did achieve that object better than anything else. But the defalcation of Captain Pullen made them all lose their interest in Brussels, and they returned to Heyst a day sooner than they had intended.
As the train neared the station, Harriet’s forgotten smiles began to dimple her face again, and she peered eagerly from the windows of the carriage, as if she expected Ralph Pullen to be on the platform to meet them. But from end to end, she saw only cinders, Flemish country women with huge baskets of fish or poultry on their arms, priests in their soutanes and broad-brimmed hats, and Belgians chattering and screaming to each other and their children, as they crossed the line. Still, she alighted with her party, expectant and happy, and traversed the little distance between the entrepôt and the Hotel, far quicker than the Baroness and her husband could keep up with her. She rushed into the balcony and almost fell into the arms of the proprietaire, Madame Lamont.
“Ah! Mademoiselle!” she cried, “welcome back to Heyst, but have you heard the desolating news?”
“What news?” exclaimed Harriet with staring eyes and a blanched cheek.
“Why! that the English lady, cette Madame, si tranquille, si charmante, lost her dear bébé the very day that Mademoiselle and Madame la Baronne left the Hotel!”
“Lost,” repeated Harriet, “do you mean that the child is dead?”
“Ah! yes, I do indeed,” replied Madame Lamont, “the dear bébé was taken with a fit whilst they were all at dinner, and never recovered again. C’était une perte irréparable! Madame was like a creature distracted whilst she remained here!”
“Where is she then? Where has she gone?” cried Harriet, excitedly.
“Ah! that I cannot tell Mademoiselle. The dear bébé was taken away to England to be buried. Madame Pullen and Mademoiselle Leyton and Monsieur Phillippe and le beau Capitaine all left Heyst on the following day, that is Wednesday, and went to Ostende to take the boat for Dover. I know no more!”
“Captain Pullen has gone away—he is not here?” exclaimed Miss Brandt, betraying herself in her disappointment. “Oh! I don’t believe it! It cannot be true! He has gone to Ostende to see them on board the steamer, but he will return—I am sure he will?”
Madame Lamont shrugged her shoulders.
“Monsieur paid everything before he went and gave douceurs to all the servants—I do not think he has any intention of returning!”
At that juncture the Baron and Baroness reached the hotel. Harriet flew to her friend for consolation.
“I cannot believe what Madame Lamont says,” she exclaimed; “she declares that they are all gone for good, Mrs. Pullen and Miss Leyton and Captain Pullen and the doctor! They have returned to England. But he is sure to come back, isn’t he? after all his promises to meet us in Brussels! He couldn’t be so mean as to run off to England, without a word, or a line, unless he intended to come back.”
She clung to Madame Gobelli with her eyes wide open and her large mouth trembling with agitation, until even the coarse fibre of the Baroness’s propriety made her feel ashamed of the exhibition.
“’Ould up, ’Arriet!” she said, “you don’t want the ’ole ’ouse to ’ear what you’re thinking of, surely! Let me speak to Madame Lamont! What is all the row about, Madame?” she continued, turning to the proprietaire.
“There is no ‘row’ at all, Madame,” was the reply, “I was only telling Mademoiselle Brandt of the sad event that has taken place here during your absence—that that chère Madame Pullen had the great misfortune to lose her sweet bébé, the very day you left Heyst, and that the whole party have quitted in consequence and crossed to England. I thought since Mademoiselle seemed so intimate with Madame Pullen and so fond of the dear child, that she would be désolée to hear the sad news, but she appears to have forgotten all about it, in her grief at hearing that the beau Capitaine accompanied his family to England where they go to bury the petite.”
And with rather a contemptuous smile upon her face, Madame Lamont re-entered the salle à manger.
“Now, ’Arriet, don’t make a fool of yourself!” said the Baroness. “You ’eard what that woman said—she’s laughing at you and your Captain, and the story will be all over the Hotel in half an hour. Don’t make any more fuss about it! If ’e’s gone, crying won’t bring ’im back. It’s much ’arder for Mrs. Pullen, losing her baby so suddenly! I’m sorry for ’er, poor woman, but as for the other, there’s as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it!”
But Harriet Brandt only answered her appeal by rushing away down the corridor and up the staircase to her bedroom like a whirlwind. The girl had not the slightest control over her passions. She would listen to no persuasion, and argument only drove her mad. She tumbled headlong up the stairs, and dashing into her room, which had been reserved for her, threw herself tumultuously upon the bed. How lonely and horrible the corridor, on which her apartment opened, seemed. Olga Brimont, Mrs. Pullen, Miss Leyton, and Ralph, all gone! No one to talk to—no one to walk with—except the Baroness and her stupid husband! Of course this interpreted simply, meant that Captain Pullen had left the place without leaving a word behind him, to say the why or wherefore, or hold out any prospect of their meeting again. Of course it was impossible but that they must meet again—they should meet again, Harriet Brandt said to herself between her closed teeth—but meanwhile, what a wilderness, what a barren, dreary place this detestable Heyst would seem without him!
The girl put her head down on the pillow, and taking the corner of the linen case between her strong, white teeth, shook it and bit it, as a terrier worries a rat! But that did not relieve her feelings sufficiently, and she took to a violent fit of sobbing, hot, angry tears coursing each other down her cheeks, until they were blurred and stained, and she lay back upon the pillow utterly exhausted.
The first dinner bell rang without her taking any notice of it, and the second was just about to sound, when there came a low tap at her bedroom door. At first she did not reply, but when it was repeated, though rather timidly, she called out,
“Who is it? I am ill. I don’t want any dinner! I cannot come down!”
A low voice answered.
“It is I, dear Miss Brandt, Bobby! May I come in? Mamma has sent me to you with a message!”
“Very well! You can enter, but I have a terrible headache!” said Harriet.
The door opened softly, and the tall lanky form of Bobby Bates crept silently into the room. He held a small bunch of pink roses in his hand, and he advanced to the bedside and laid them without a word on the pillow beside her hot, inflamed cheek. They felt deliciously cool and refreshing. Harriet turned her face towards them, and in doing so, met the anxious, perturbed eyes of Bobby.
“Well!” she said smiling faintly, “and what is your Mamma’s message?”
“She wishes to know if you are coming down to dinner. It is nearly ready!”
“No! no! I cannot! I am not hungry, and my eyes are painful,” replied Harriet, turning her face slightly away.
The lad rose and drew down the blind of her window, through which the setting sun was casting a stream of light, and then captured a flacon of eau de Cologne from her toilet-table, and brought it to her in his hand.
“May I sit beside you a little while in case you need anything?” he asked.
“No! no! Bobby! You will want your dinner, and your Mamma will want you. You had better go down again at once, and tell her that if my head is better, I will meet her on the Digue this evening!”
“I don’t want any dinner, I could not eat it whilst you lie here sick and unhappy. I want to stay, to see if I can help you, or do you any good. I wish—I wish I could!” murmured the lad.
“Your roses have done me good already,” replied Harriet, more brightly. “It was sweet of you to bring them to me, Bobby.”
“I wish I had ten thousand pounds a year,” said Bobby feverishly, “that I might bring you roses, and everything that you like best!”
He laid his blonde head on the pillow by the side of hers and Harriet turned her face to his and kissed him.
The blood rushed into his face, and he trembled. It was the first time that any woman had kissed him. And all the feelings of his manhood rushed forth in a body to greet the creature who had awakened them.
As for Harriet Brandt, the boy’s evident admiration flattered and pleased her. The tigress deprived of blood, will sometimes condescend to milder food. And the feelings with which she regarded Captain Pullen were such as could be easily replaced by anyone who evinced the same reciprocity. Bobby Bates was not a beau sabreur, but he was a male creature whom she had vanquished by her charms, and it interested her to watch his rising passion, and to know that he could never possibly expect it to be requited. She kissed and fondled him as he sat beside her with his head on the pillow—calling him every nice name she could think of, and caressing him as if he had been what the Baroness chose to consider him—a child of ten years old.
His sympathy and entreaties that she would make an effort to join them on the Digue, added to his lovelorn eyes, the clear childish blue of which was already becoming blurred with the heat of passion, convinced her that all was not lost, although Ralph Pullen had been ungrateful and impolite enough to leave Heyst without sending her notice, and presently she persuaded the lad to go down to his dinner, and inform the Baroness that she had ordered a cup of tea to be sent up to her bedroom, and would try to rise after she had taken it, and join them on the Digue.
“But you will keep a look-out for me, Bobby, won’t you?” she said in parting. “You will not let me miss your party, or I shall feel so lonely that I shall come straight back to bed!”
“Miss you! as if I would!” exclaimed the boy fervently, “why, I shall not stir from the balcony until you appear! O! Miss Brandt! I love you so. You cannot tell—you will never know—but you seem like part of my life!”
“Silly boy!” replied Harriet, reproachfully, as she gave him another kiss. “There, run away at once, and don’t tell your mother what we’ve been about, or she will never let me speak to you again.”
Bobby’s eyes answered for him, that he would be torn to pieces before he let their precious secret out of his grasp, as he took his unwilling way down to the table d’hôte.
“Well! you ’ave made a little fool of yourself, and no mistake,” was the Baroness’s greeting, as Harriet joined her in the balcony an hour later, “and a nice lot of lies I’ve ’ad to tell about you to Mrs. Montague and the rest. But luckily, they’re all so full of the poor child’s death, and the coffin of white cloth studded with silver nails that was brought from Bruges to carry the body to England in, that they ’ad no time to spare for your tantrums. Lor! that poor young man must ’ave ’ad enough to do, I can tell you, from all accounts, without writing to you! Everything was on ’is ’ands, for Mrs. Pullen wouldn’t let the doctor out of ’er sight! ’E ’ad to fly off to Bruges to get the coffin and to wire half over the world, besides ’aving the two women to tow about, so you mustn’t be ’ard on ’im. ’E’ll write soon, and explain everything, you may make sure of that, and if ’e don’t, why, we shall be after ’im before long! Aldershot, where the Limerick Rangers are quartered, is within a stone’s throw of London, and Lord Menzies and Mr. Nalgett often run over to the Red ’Ouse, and so can Captain Pullen, if he chooses! So you just make yourself ’appy, and it will be all right before long.”
“O! I’m all right!” cried Harriet, gaily, “I was only a little startled at the news, so would anyone have been. Come along, Bobby! Let us walk over the dunes to the next town. This cool air will do my head good. Good-bye, Baroness! You needn’t expect us till you see us! Bobby and I are going for a good long walk!”
And tucking the lad’s arm under her own, she walked off at a tremendous pace, and the pair were soon lost to view.
“I wish that Bobby was a few years older,” remarked the Baroness thoughtfully to her husband, as they were left alone, “she wouldn’t ’ave made a bad match for him, for she ’as a tidy little fortune, and it’s all in Consols. But perhaps it’s just as well there’s no chance of it! She ain’t got much ’eart—I couldn’t ’ave believed that she’d receive the news of that poor baby’s death, without a tear or so much as a word of regret, when at one time she ’ad it always in ’er arms. She quite forgot all about it, thinking of the man. Drat the men! They’re more trouble than they’re worth, but ’e’s pretty sure to come after ’er as soon as ’e ’ears she’s at the Red ’Ouse!”
“But to what good, mein tear,” demanded the Baron, “when you know he is betrothed to Miss Leyton?”
“Yes! and ’e’ll marry Miss Leyton, too. ’E’s not the sort of man to let the main chance go! And ’Arriet will console ’erself with a better beau. I can read all that without your telling me, Gustave. But Miss Leyton won’t get off without a scratch or two, all the same, and that’s what I’m aiming at. I’ll teach ’er not to call me a female elephant! I’ve got my knife into that young woman, and I mean to turn it! Confound ’er impudence! What next?”
And having delivered herself of her feelings, the Baroness rose and proceeded to take her evening promenade along the Digue.