There was a marked difference observable in the manner of Harriet Brandt after her conversation with the Baroness. Hitherto she had been shy and somewhat diffident—the seclusion of her conventual life and its religious teachings had cast a veil, as it were, between her and the outer world, and she had not known how to behave, nor how much she might venture to do, on being first cast upon it. But Madame Gobelli’s revelations concerning her beauty and her prospects, had torn the veil aside, and placed a talisman in her hands, against her secret fear.
She was beautiful and dangerous—she might become a Princess if she played her cards well—the knowledge changed the whole face of Nature for her. She became assured, confident, and anticipatory. She began to frequent the company of the Baroness, and without neglecting her first acquaintances, Mrs. Pullen and her baby, spent more time in the Gobelli’s private sitting-room than in the balcony, or public salon, a fact for which Margaret did not hesitate to declare herself grateful.
“I do not know how it is,” she confided to Elinor Leyton, “I rather like the girl, and I would not be unkind to her for all the world, but there is something about her that oppresses me. I seem never to have quite lost the sensation she gave me the first evening that she came here. Her company enervates me—I get neuralgia whenever we have been a short time together—and she leaves me in low spirits and more disposed to cry than laugh!”
“And no wonder,” said her friend, “considering that she has that detestable school-girl habit of hanging upon one’s arm and dragging one down almost to the earth! How you have stood it so long, beats me! Such a delicate woman as you are too. It proves how selfish Miss Brandt must be, not to have seen that she was distressing you!”
“Well! it will take a large amount of expended force to drag Madame Gobelli to the ground,” said Margaret, laughing, “so I hope Miss Brandt will direct that portion of her attention to her, and leave me only the residue. Poor girl! she seems to have had so few people to love, or to love her, during her lifetime, that she is glad to practise on anyone who will reciprocate her affection. Did you see the Baroness kissing her this morning?”
“I saw the Baroness scrubbing her beard against Miss Brandt’s cheek, if you call that ‘kissing’?” replied Elinor. “The Baroness never kisses! I have noticed her salute poor Bobby in the morning exactly in the same manner. I have a curiosity to know if it hurts.”
“Why don’t you try it?” said Margaret.
“No, thank you! I am not so curious as all that! But the Gobellis and Miss Brandt have evidently struck up a great friendship. She will be the recipient of the Baroness’s cast-off trinkets and laces next!”
“She is too well off for that, Elinor! Madame Lamont told me she has a fortune in her own right, of fifteen hundred a year!”
“She will want it all to gild herself with!” said Elinor.
Margaret Pullen looked at Miss Leyton thoughtfully. Did she really mean what she said, or did her jealousy of the West Indian heiress render her capable of uttering untruths? Surely, she must see that Harriet Brandt was handsome—growing handsomer indeed, every day, with the pure sea air tinting her cheeks with a delicate flush like the inside of a shell—and that her beauty, joined to her money, would render her a tempting morsel for the men, and a formidable rival for the women.
“I do not think you would find many people to agree with your opinion, Elinor!” she said after a pause, in answer to Miss Leyton’s last remark.
“Well! I think she’s altogether odious,” replied her friend with a toss of her head, “I thought it the first time I saw her, and I shall think it to the last!”
It was the day that Captain Ralph Pullen was expected to arrive in Heyst and the two ladies were preparing to go to the station to meet him.
“The Baroness has at all events done you one good turn,” continued Miss Leyton, “she has delivered you for a few hours from your ‘Old Man of the Sea.’ What have you been doing with yourself all the morning! I expected you to meet me on the sands, after I had done bathing!”
“I have not stirred out, Elinor. I am uneasy about baby! She does not seem at all well. I have been waiting your return to ask you whether I had not better send for a doctor to see her. But I am not sure if there is such a thing in Heyst!”
“Sure to be, but don’t send unless it is absolutely necessary. What is the matter with her?”
The nurse was sitting by the open window with little Ethel on her lap. The infant looked much the same as usual—a little paler perhaps, but in a sound sleep and apparently enjoying it.
“She does not seem ill to me,” continued Elinor, “is she in any pain?”
“Not at all, Miss,” said the nurse, “and begging the mistress’s pardon, I am sure she is frightening herself without cause. Baby is cutting two more teeth, and she feels the heat. That’s all!”
“Why are you frightened, Margaret?” asked Miss Leyton.
“Because her sleep is unnatural, I am sure of it,” replied Mrs. Pullen, “she slept all yesterday, and has hardly opened her eyes to-day. It is more like torpor than sleep. We can hardly rouse her to take her bottle and you know what a lively, restless little creature she has always been.”
“But her teeth,” argued Elinor Leyton, “surely her teeth account for everything! I know my sister, Lady Armisdale, says that nothing varies so quickly as teething children—that they’re at the point of death one hour and quite well the next, and she has five, so she ought to know!”
“That’s quite right, Miss,” interposed the nurse, respectfully, “and you can hardly expect the dear child to be lively when she’s in pain. She has a little fever on her too! If she were awake, she would only be fretful! I am sure that the best medicine for her is sleep!”
“You hear what Nurse says, Margaret, but if you are nervous, why not send for a doctor to see her! We can ask Madame Lamont as we go downstairs who is the best here, and call on him as we go to the station, or we can telegraph to Bruges for one, if you think it would be better!”
“O! no! no! I will not be foolish! I will try and believe that you and Nurse know better than myself. I will wait at all events until to-morrow.”
“Where has baby been this morning?”
“She was with Miss Brandt on the sands, Miss!” replied the nurse.
“Since you are so anxious about Ethel, Margaret, I really wonder that you should trust her with a stranger like Miss Brandt! Perhaps she let the sun beat on her head.”
“O! no, Elinor, Nurse was with them all the time. I would not let Miss Brandt or anyone take baby away alone. But she is so good-natured and so anxious to have her, that I don’t quite know how to refuse.”
“Perhaps she has been stuffing the child with some of her horrid chocolates or caramels. She is gorging them all day long herself!”
“I know my duty too well for that, Miss!” said the nurse resentfully, “I wouldn’t have allowed it! The dear baby did not have anything to eat at all.”
“Well! you’re both on her side evidently, so I will say no more,” concluded Miss Leyton, “At the same time if I had a child, I’d sooner trust it to a wild beast than the tender mercies of Miss Brandt. But it’s past four o’clock, Margaret! If we are to reach the entrepôt in time we must be going!”
Mrs. Pullen hastily assumed her hat and mantle, and prepared to accompany her friend. They had opened the door, and were about to leave the room when a flood of melody suddenly poured into the apartment. It proceeded from a room at the other end of the corridor and was produced by a mandoline most skilfully played. The silvery notes in rills and trills and chords, such as might have been evolved from a fairy harp, arrested the attention of both Miss Leyton and Mrs. Pullen. They had scarcely expressed their wonder and admiration to each other, at the skilful manipulation of the instrument (which evinced such art as they had never heard before except in public) when the strings of the mandoline were accompanied by a young, fresh contralto voice.
“O! hush! hush!” cried Elinor, with her finger on her lip, as the rich mellow strains floated through the corridor, “I don’t think I ever heard such a lovely voice before. Whose on earth can it be?”
The words of the song were in Spanish, and the only one they could recognise was the refrain of, “Seralie! Seralie!” But the melody was wild, pathetic, and passionate, and the singer’s voice was touching beyond description.
“Some professional must have arrived at the Hotel,” said Margaret, “I am sure that is not the singing of an amateur. But I hope she will not practise at night, and keep baby awake!”
Elinor laughed.
“O! you mother!” she said, “I thought you were lamenting just now that your ewe lamb slept too much! For my part, I should like to be lulled to sleep each night by just such strains as those. Listen, Margaret! She has commenced another song. Ah! Gounod’s delicious ‘Ave Maria.’ How beautiful!”
“I don’t profess to know much about music,” said Margaret, “but it strikes me that the charm of that singing lies more in the voice than the actual delivery. Whoever it is, must be very young!”
“Whoever it proceeds from, it is charming,” repeated Elinor. “How Ralph would revel in it! Nothing affects him like music. It is the only thing which makes me regret my inability to play or sing. But I am most curious to learn who the new arrival is. Ah! here is Mademoiselle Brimont!” she continued, as she caught sight of Olga Brimont, slowly mounting the steep staircase, “Mademoiselle, do you happen to know who it is who owns that lovely voice? Mrs. Pullen and I are perfectly enchanted with it!”
Olga Brimont coloured a little. She had never got over her shyness of the English ladies, particularly of the one who spoke so sharply. But she answered at once,
“It is Harriet Brandt! Didn’t you know that she sang?”
Miss Leyton took a step backward. Her face expressed the intensest surprise—not to say incredulity.
“Harriet Brandt! Impossible!” she ejaculated.
“Indeed it is she,” repeated Olga, “she always sang the solos in the Convent choir. They used to say she had the finest voice in the Island. O! yes, it is Harriet, really.”
And she passed on to her own apartment.
“Do you believe it?” said Elinor Leyton, turning almost fiercely upon Mrs. Pullen.
“How can I do otherwise,” replied Margaret, “in the face of Mademoiselle Brimont’s assertion? But it is strange that we have heard nothing of Miss Brandt’s talent before!”
“Has she ever mentioned the fact to you, that she could sing?”
“Never! but there has been no opportunity. There is no instrument here, and we have never talked of such a thing! Only fancy her possessing so magnificent a voice! What a gift! She might make her fortune by it if she needed to do so.”
“Well! she ought to be able to sing with that mouth of hers,” remarked Miss Leyton almost bitterly, as she walked into the corridor. She was unwilling to accord Harriet Brandt the possession of a single good attribute. As the ladies traversed the corridor, they perceived that others had been attracted by the singing as well as themselves, and most of the bedroom doors were open. Mrs. Montague caught Margaret by the sleeve as she passed.
“O! Mrs. Pullen, what a heavenly voice! Whose is it? Fred is just mad to know!”
“It’s only that girl Brandt!” replied Elinor roughly, as she tried to escape further questioning.
“Miss Brandt! what, the little West Indian! Mrs. Pullen, is Miss Leyton jesting?”
“No, indeed, Mrs. Montague! Mademoiselle Brimont was our informant,” said Margaret.
But at that moment their attention was diverted by the appearance of Harriet Brandt herself. She looked brilliant. In one hand she carried her mandoline, a lovely little instrument, of sandal-wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl,—her face was flushed with the exertion she had gone through, and her abundant hair was somewhat in disorder. Mrs. Montague pounced on her at once.
“O! Miss Brandt! you are a sly puss! We have all been delighted—enchanted! What do you mean by hiding your light under a bushel in this way? Do come in here for a minute and sing us another song! Major Montague is in ecstasies over your voice!”
“I can’t stop, I can’t indeed!” replied Miss Brandt, evidently pleased with the effect she had produced, “because I am on my way down to dear Madame Gobelli. I promised to sing for her this afternoon. I was only trying my voice to see if it was fit for anything!”
She smiled at Mrs. Pullen as she spoke and added,
“I hope I have not disturbed the darling baby! I thought she would be out this lovely afternoon!”
“O! no! you did not disturb her. We have all been much pleased, and surprised to think that you have never told us that you could sing!”
“How could I tell that anyone would care about it?” replied Harriet, indifferently, with a shrug of her shoulders. “But the Baron is very musical! He has a charming tenor voice. I have promised to accompany him! I mustn’t delay any longer! Good afternoon!”
And she flew down the stairs with her mandoline.
“It is all the dear Baroness and the dear Baron now, you perceive,” remarked Elinor to Mrs. Pullen, as they walked together to the railway-station, “you and the baby are at a discount. Miss Brandt is the sort of young lady, I fancy, who will follow her own interests wherever they may lead her!”
“You should be the last to complain of her for that, Elinor, since you have tried to get rid of her at any cost,” replied her friend.
Captain Ralph Pullen arrived punctually by the train which he had appointed, and greeted his sister-in-law and fiancée with marked cordiality.
He was certainly a man to be proud of, as far as outward appearance went. He was acknowledged, by general consent, to be one of the handsomest men in the British Army, and he was fully aware of the fact. He was tall and well built, with good features, almost golden hair; womanish blue eyes, and a long drooping moustache, which he was always caressing with his left hand. He regarded all women with the same languishing, tired-to-death glance, as if the attentions shewn him by the beau sexe had been altogether too much for him, and the most he could do now was to regard them with an indolent, worn-out favour, which had had all the excitement, and freshness, and flavour taken out of it long before. Most women would have considered his method of treatment as savouring little short of insult, but Elinor Leyton’s nature did not make extravagant demands upon her lover, and so long as he dressed and looked well and paid her the courtesies due from a gentleman to a gentlewoman, she was quite satisfied. Margaret, on the other hand, had seen through her brother-in-law’s affectations from the first, and despised him for them. She thought him foolish, vain, and uncompanionable, but she bore with him for Arthur’s sake. She would have welcomed his cousin Anthony Pennell, though, with twice the fervour.
Ralph was looking remarkably well. His light grey suit of tweed was fresh and youthful looking, and the yellow rose in his buttonhole was as dainty as if he had just walked out of his Piccadilly club. He was quite animated (for him) at the idea of spending a short time in Heyst, and actually went the length of informing Elinor that she looked “very fit”, and that if it was not so public a place he should kiss her. Miss Leyton coloured faintly at the remark, but she turned her head away and would not let him see that she was sorry the place was so public.
“Heyst seems to have done you both a lot of good,” Captain Pullen went on presently, “I am sure you are fatter, Margaret, than when you were in Town. And, by the way, how is the daughter?”
“Not very well, I am sorry to say, Ralph! She is cutting more teeth. Elinor and I were consulting whether we should send for a doctor to see her, only this afternoon.”
“By the way, I have good news for you, or you will consider it so. Old Phillips is coming over to join us next week.”
“Doctor Phillips, my dear old godfather!” exclaimed Margaret, “O! I am glad to hear it! He will set baby to rights at once. But who told you so, Ralph?”
“The old gentleman himself! I met him coming out of his club the other day and told him I was coming over here, and he said he should follow suit as soon as ever he could get away, and I was to tell you to get a room for him by next Monday!”
“I shall feel quite happy about my baby now,” said Mrs. Pullen, “I have not much faith in Belgian doctors. Their pharmacopœia is quite different from ours, but Doctor Phillips will see if there is anything wrong with her at once!”
“I hope you will not be disappointed with the Hotel visitors, Ralph,” said Elinor, “but they are a terrible set of riff-raff. It is impossible to make friends with any one of them. They are such dreadful people!”
“O! you mustn’t class them all together, Elinor,” interposed Margaret, “I am sure the Montagues and the Vieuxtemps are nice enough! And du reste, there is no occasion for Ralph even to speak to them.”
“Of course not,” said Captain Pullen, “I have come over for the sake of your company and Margaret’s, and have no intention of making the acquaintance of any strangers. When is the Bataille de Fleurs? Next week? that’s jolly! Old Phillips will be here by that time, and he and Margaret can flirt together, whilst you and I are billing and cooing, eh, Elinor?”
“Don’t be vulgar, Ralph,” she answered, “you know how I dislike that sort of thing! And we have had so much of it here!”
“What, billing and cooing?” he questioned. But Elinor disdained to make any further remark on the subject.
The appearance of Ralph Pullen at the table d’hôte dinner naturally excited a good deal of speculation. The English knew that Mrs. Pullen expected her brother-in-law to stay with her, but the foreigners were all curious to ascertain who the handsome, well-groomed, military-looking stranger might be, who was so familiar with Mrs. Pullen and her friend. The Baroness was not behind the rest in curiosity and admiration. She was much before them in her determination to gratify her curiosity and make the acquaintance of the new-comer, whose name she guessed, though no introduction had passed between them. She waited through two courses to see if Margaret Pullen would take the initiative, but finding that she addressed all her conversation to Captain Pullen, keeping her face, meanwhile, pertinaciously turned from the party sitting opposite to her, she determined to force her hand.
“Mrs. Pullen!” she cried, in her coarse voice, “when are you going to introduce me to your handsome friend?”
Margaret coloured uneasily and murmured,
“My brother-in-law, Captain Pullen—Madame Gobelli.”
“Very glad to see you, Captain,” said the Baroness, as Ralph bowed to her in his most approved fashion, “your sister thought she’d keep you all to ’erself, I suppose! But the young ladies of Heyst would soon make mincemeat of Mrs. Pullen if she tried that little game on them. We ’aven’t got too many good-looking young men ’ereabouts, I can tell you. Are you going to stay long?”
Captain Pullen murmured something about “uncertain” and “not being quite sure”, whilst the Baroness regarded him full in the face with a broad smile on her own. She always had a keen eye for a handsome young man!
“Ah! you’ll stay as long as it suits your purpose, won’t you? I expect you ’ave your own little game to play, same as most of us! And it’s a pretty little game, too, isn’t it, especially when a fellow’s young and good-looking and ’as the chink-a-chink, eh?”
“I fancy I know some of your brother officers, Mr. Naggett, and Lord Menzies, they belong to the Rangers, don’t they?” continued Madame Gobelli, “Prince Adalbert of Waxsquiemer used to bring ’em to the Red ’Ouse! By the way I ’aven’t introduced you to my ’usband, Baron Gobelli! Gustave, this is Captain Ralph Pullen, the Colonel’s brother, you know. You must ’ave a talk with ’im after dinner! You two would ’it it off first-rate together! Gustave’s in the boot trade, you know, Captain Pullen! We trade under the name of Fantaisie et Cie! The best boots and shoes in London, and the largest manufactory, I give you my word! You should get your boots from us. I know you dandy officers are awfully particular about your tootsies. If you’ll come and see me in London, I’ll take you over the manufactory, and give you a pair. You’ll never buy any others, once you’ve tried ’em!”
Ralph Pullen bowed again, and said he felt certain that Madame was right and he looked forward to the fulfilment of her promise with the keenest anticipation.
Harriet Brandt meanwhile, sitting almost opposite to the stranger, was regarding him from under the thick lashes of her slumbrous eyes, like a lynx watching its prey. She had never seen so good-looking and aristocratic a young man before. His crisp golden hair and drooping moustaches, his fair complexion, blue eyes and chiselled features, were a revelation to her. Would the Princes whom Madame Gobelli had promised she should meet at her house, be anything like him, she wondered—could they be as handsome, as perfectly dressed, as fashionable, as completely at their ease, as the man before her? Every other moment, she was stealing a veiled glance at him—and Captain Pullen was quite aware of the fact. What young man, or woman, is not aware when they are being furtively admired? Ralph Pullen was one of the most conceited of his sex, which is not saying a little—he was accomblé with female attentions wherever he went, yet he was not blasé with them, so long as he was not called upon to reciprocate in kind. Each time that Harriet’s magnetic gaze sought his face, his eyes by some mystical chance were lifted to meet it, and though all four lids were modestly dropped again, their owners did not forget the effect their encounter had left behind it.
“’Ave you been round Heyst yet, Captain Pullen,” vociferated Madame Gobelli, “and met the Procession? I never saw such rubbish in my life. I laughed fit to burst myself! A lot of children rigged out in blue and white, carrying a doll on a stick, and a crowd of fools following and singing ’ymns. Call that Religion? It’s all tommy rot. Don’t you agree with me, Mrs. Pullen?”
“I cannot say that I do, Madame! I have been taught to respect every religion that is followed with sincerity, whether I agree with its doctrine or not. Besides, I thought the procession you allude to a very pretty sight. Some of the children with their fair hair and wreaths of flowers looked like little angels!”
“O! you’re an ’umbug!” exclaimed the Baroness, “you say that just to please these Papists. Not that I wouldn’t just as soon be a Papist as a Protestant, but I ’ate cant. I wouldn’t ’ave Bobby ’ere, brought up in any religion. Let ’im choose for ’imself when ’e’s a man, I said, but no cant, no ’umbug! I ’ad a governess for ’im once, a dirty little sneak, who thought she’d get the better of me, so she made the boy kneel down each night and say, ‘God bless father and mother and all kind friends, and God bless my enemies.’ I came on ’em one evening and I ’ad ’im up on his legs in a moment. I won’t ’ave it, Bobby, I said, I won’t ’ave you telling lies for anyone, and I made ’im repeat after me, ‘God bless father and mother and all kind friends, and d—n my enemies.’ The governess was so angry with me, that she gave warning, he! he! he! But I ’ad my way, and Bobby ’asn’t said a prayer since, ’ave you, Bobby?”
“Sometimes, Mamma!” replied the lad in a low voice. Margaret Pullen’s kind eyes sought his at once with an encouraging smile.
“Well! you’d better not let me ’ear you, or I’ll give you ‘what for’. I ’ate ’umbug, don’t you, Captain Pullen?”
“Unreservedly, Madame!” replied Ralph in a stifled voice and with an inflamed countenance. He had been trying to conceal his amusement for some time past, greatly to the disgust of Miss Leyton, who would have had him pass by his opposite neighbour’s remarks in silent contempt, and the effort had been rather trying. As he spoke, his eyes sought those of Harriet Brandt again, and discovered the sympathy with his distress, lurking in them, coupled with a very evident look of admiration for himself. He looked at her back again—only one look, but it spoke volumes! Captain Pullen had never given such a glance at his fiancée, nor received one from her! It is problematical if Elinor Leyton could make a telegraph of her calm brown eyes—if her soul (if indeed she had in that sense a soul at all) ever pierced the bounds of its dwelling-place to look through its windows. As the dessert appeared, Margaret whispered to her brother-in-law,
“If we do not make our escape now, we may not get rid of her all the evening,” at which hint he rose from table, and the trio left the salle à manger together. As Margaret descended again, equipped for their evening stroll, she perceived Harriet Brandt in the corridor also ready, and waiting apparently for her. She took her aside at once.
“I cannot ask you to join us in our walk this evening, Miss Brandt,” she said, “because, as it is the first day of my brother’s arrival, we shall naturally have many family topics to discuss together!”
For the first time since their acquaintance, she observed a sullen look creep over Harriet Brandt’s features.
“I am going to walk with the Baron and Baroness, thank you all the same!” she replied to Margaret’s remark, and turning on her heel, she re-entered her room. Margaret did not believe her statement, but she was glad she had had the courage to warn her—she knew it would have greatly annoyed Elinor if the girl she detested had accompanied them on that first evening. The walk proved after all to be a very ordinary one. They paraded up and down the Digue, until they were tired and then they sat down on green chairs and listened to the orchestra whilst Ralph smoked his cigarettes. Elinor was looking her best. She was pleased and mildly excited—her costume became her—and she was presumably enjoying herself, but as far as her joy in Captain Pullen went, she might have been walking with her father or her brother. The conscious looks that had passed between him and Harriet Brandt were utterly wanting.
They began by talking of home, of Elinor’s family, and the last news that Margaret had received from Arthur—and then went on to discuss the visitors to the Hotel. Miss Leyton waxed loud in her denunciation of the Baroness and her familiar vulgarity—she deplored the ill fate that had placed them in such close proximity at the table d’hôte, and hoped that Ralph would not hesitate to change his seat if the annoyance became too great. She had warned him, she said, of what he might expect by joining them at Heyst.
“My dear girl,” he replied, “pray don’t distress yourself! In the first place I know a great deal more about foreign hotels than you do, and knew exactly what I might expect to encounter, and in the second, I don’t mind it in the least—in fact, I like it, it amuses me, I think the Baroness is quite a character, and look forward to cultivating her acquaintance with the keenest anticipations.”
“O! don’t, Ralph, pray don’t!” exclaimed Miss Leyton, fastidiously, “the woman is beneath contempt! I should be exceedingly annoyed if you permitted her to get at all intimate with you.”
“Why not, if it amuses him?” demanded Margaret, laughing, “for my part, I agree with Ralph, that her very vulgarity makes her most amusing as a change, and it is not as if we were likely to be thrown in her way when we return to England!”
“She is a rara avis,” cried Captain Pullen enthusiastically, “she certainly must know some good people if men like Naggett and Menzies have been at her house, and yet the way she advertises her boots and shoes is too delicious! O! dear yes! I cannot consent to cut the Baroness Gobelli! I am half in love with her already!”
Elinor Leyton made a gesture of disgust.
“And you—who are considered to be one of the most select and fastidious men in Town,” she said, “I wonder at you!”
Then he made a bad matter worse, by saying,
“By the way, Margaret, who was that beautiful girl who sat on the opposite side of the table?”
“The what,” exclaimed Elinor Leyton, ungrammatically, as she turned round upon the Digue and confronted him.
“He means Miss Brandt!” interposed Margaret, hastily, “many people think that she is handsome!”
“No one could think otherwise,” responded Ralph. “Is she Spanish?”
“O! no; her parents were English. She comes from Jamaica!”
“Ah! a drop of Creole blood in her then, I daresay! You never see such eyes in an English face!”
“What’s the matter with her eyes?” asked Elinor sharply.
“They’re very large and dark, you know, Elinor!” said Mrs. Pullen, observing the cloud which was settling down upon the girl’s face, “but it is not everybody who admires dark eyes, or you and I would come off badly!”
“Well, with all due deference to you, my fair sister-in-law,” replied Ralph, with the stupidity of a selfish man who never knows when he is wounding his hearers, “most people give the preference to dark eyes in women. Anyway Miss Brandt (if that is her name) is a beauty and no mistake!”
“I can’t say that I admire your taste,” said Elinor, “and I sincerely hope that Miss Brandt will not force her company upon us whilst you are here. Margaret and I have suffered more than enough already in that respect! She is only half educated and knows nothing of the world, and is altogether a most uninteresting companion. I dislike her exceedingly!”
“Ah! don’t forget her singing!” cried Margaret, unwittingly.
“Does she sing?” demanded the Captain.
“Yes! and wonderfully well for an amateur! She plays the mandoline also. I think Elinor is a little hard on her! Of course she is very young and unformed, but she has only just come out of a convent where she has been educated for the last ten years. What can you expect of a girl who has never been out in Society? I know that she is very good-natured, and has waited on baby as if she had been her servant!”
“Don’t you think we have had about enough of Miss Harriet Brandt?” said Elinor, “I want to hear what Ralph thinks of Heyst, or if he advises our going on to Ostende. I believe Ostende is much gayer and brighter than Heyst!”
“But we must wait now till Doctor Phillips joins us,” interposed Margaret.
“He could come after us, if Ralph preferred Ostende or Blankenburghe,” said Elinor eagerly.
“My dear ladies,” exclaimed Captain Pullen, “allow me to form an opinion of Heyst first, and then we will talk about other places. This seems pleasant enough in all conscience to me now!”
“O! you two are bound to think any place pleasant,” laughed Margaret, “but I think I must go in to my baby! I do not feel easy to be away from her too long, now that she is ailing. But there is no need for you to come in, Elinor! It is only just nine o’clock!”
“I would rather accompany you,” replied Miss Leyton, primly.
“No! no! Elinor, stay with me! If you are tired we can sit in the balcony. I have seen nothing of you yet!” remonstrated her lover.
She consented to sit in the balcony with him for a few minutes, but she would not permit his chair to be placed too close to hers.
“The waiters pass backward and forward,” she said, “and what would they think?”
“The deuce take what they think,” replied Captain Pullen, “I haven’t seen you for two months, and you keep me at arms’ length as if I should poison you! What do you suppose a man is made of?”
“My dear Ralph, you know it is nothing of the kind, but it is quite impossible that we can sit side by side like a pair of turtle doves in a public Hotel like this!”
“Let us go up to your room then?”
“To my bedroom?” she ejaculated with horror.
“To Margaret’s room then! she won’t be so prudish, I’m sure! Anywhere where I can speak to you alone!”
“The nurse will be in Margaret’s room, with little Ethel!”
“Hang it all, then, come for another walk! Let us go away from the town, out on those sand hills. I’m sure no one will see us there!”
“Dear Ralph, you must be reasonable! If I were seen walking about Heyst alone with you at night, it would be all over the town to-morrow.”
“Let it be! Where’s the harm?”
“But I have kept our engagement most scrupulously secret! No one knows anything, but that you are Margaret’s brother-in-law! You don’t know how they gossip and chatter in a place like this. I could never consent to appear at the public table d’hôte again, if I thought that all those vulgarians had been discussing my most private affairs!”
“O! well! just as you choose!” replied Ralph Pullen discontentedly, “but I suppose you will not object to my taking another turn along the Digue before I go to bed! Here, garçon, bring me a chasse! Good-night, then, if you will not stay!”
“It is not that I will not—it is that I cannot, Ralph!” said Miss Leyton, as she gave him her hand. “Good-night! I hope you will find your room comfortable, and if it is fine to-morrow, we will have a nice walk in whichever direction you prefer!”
“And much good that will be!” grumbled the young man, as he lighted his cigarette and strolled out again upon the Digue.
As he stood for a moment looking out upon the sea, which was one mass of silvery ripples, he heard himself called by name. He looked up. The Gobellis had a private sitting-room facing the Digue on the ground floor, and the Baroness was leaning out of the open window, and beckoning to him.
“Won’t you come in and ’ave a whiskey and soda?” she asked. “The Baron ’as ’is own whiskey ’ere, real Scotch, none of your nasty Belgian stuff, ’alf spirits of wine and ’alf varnish! Come along! We’ve got a jolly little parlour, and my little friend ’Arriet Brandt shall sing to you! Unless you’re off on some lark of your own, eh?”
“No! indeed,” replied Ralph, “I was only wondering what I should do with myself for the next hour. Thank you so much! I’ll come with pleasure.”
And in another minute he was seated in the company of the Baron and Baroness and Harriet Brandt.