Vampire Books Online / The Blood of the Vampire: Part 1

Chapter 1

It was the magic hour of dining. The long Digue of Heyst was almost deserted; so was the strip of loose, yellow sand which skirted its base, and all the tables d’hôtes were filling fast. Henri, the youngest waiter of the Hôtel Lion d’Or, was standing on the steps between the two great gilded lions, which stood rampant on either side the portals, vigorously ringing a loud and discordant bell to summons the stragglers, whilst the ladies, who were waiting the commencement of dinner in the little salon to the side, stopped their ears to dull its clamour. Philippe and Jules were busy, laying white cloths and glasses, etc., on the marble tables in the open balcony, outside the salle à manger, where strangers to the Hotel might dine à la carte, if they chose. Inside, the long, narrow tables, were decorated with dusty geraniums and fuchsias, whilst each cruet stand had a small bunch of dirty artificial flowers tied to its handle. But the visitors to the Lion d’Or, who were mostly English, were too eager for their evening meal, to cavil at their surroundings. The Baroness Gobelli, with her husband on one[Pg 6]side, and her son on the other, was the first to seat herself at table. The Baroness always appeared with the soup, for she had observed that the first comers received a more generous helping than those who came in last. No such anxiety occupied the minds of Mrs. Pullen and her friend Miss Leyton, who sat opposite to the Baroness and her family. They did not care sufficiently for the potage aux croutons, which usually formed the beginning of the table d’hôte dinner. The long tables were soon filled with a motley crew of English, Germans, and Belgians, all chattering, especially the foreigners, as fast as their tongues could travel. Amongst them was a sprinkling of children, mostly unruly and ill-behaved, who had to be called to order every now and then, which made Miss Leyton’s lip curl with disgust. Just opposite to her, and next to Mr. Bobby Bates, the Baroness’s son by her first marriage, and whom she always treated as if he had been a boy of ten years old, was an unoccupied chair, turned up against the table to signify that it was engaged.

“I wonder if that is for the German Princess of whom Madame Lamont is so fond of talking,” whispered Elinor Leyton to Mrs. Pullen, “she said this morning that she expected her this afternoon.”

“O! surely not!” replied her friend, “I do not know much about royalties, but I should think a Princess would hardly dine at a public table d’hôte.”

“O! a German Princess! what is that?” said Miss Leyton, with a curled lip again, for she was a daughter of Lord Walthamstowe, and thought very little of any aristocracy, except that of her own country.

As she spoke, however, the chair opposite was[Pg 7]sharply pulled into place, and a young lady seated herself on it, and looked boldly (though not brazenly) up and down the tables, and at her neighbours on each side of her. She was a remarkable-looking girl—more remarkable, perhaps, than beautiful, for her beauty did not strike one at first sight. Her figure was tall but slight and lissom. It looked almost boneless as she swayed easily from side to side of her chair. Her skin was colourless but clear. Her eyes were long-shaped, dark, and narrow, with heavy lids and thick black lashes which lay upon her cheeks. Her brows were arched and delicately pencilled, and her nose was straight and small. Not so her mouth however, which was large, with lips of a deep blood colour, displaying small white teeth. To crown all, her head was covered with a mass of soft, dull, blue-black hair, which was twisted in careless masses about the nape of her neck, and looked as if it was unaccustomed to comb or hairpin. She was dressed very simply in a white cambric frock, but there was not a woman present, who had not discovered in five minutes, that the lace with which it was profusely trimmed, was costly Valenciennes, and that it was clasped at her throat with brilliants. The new-comer did not seem in the least abashed by the numbers of eyes which were turned upon her, but bore the scrutiny very calmly, smiling in a sort of furtive way at everybody, until the entrées were handed round, when she rivetted all her attention upon the contents of her plate. Miss Leyton thought she had never seen any young person devour her food with so much avidity and enjoyment. She could not help watching her. The Baroness Gobelli, who was a very coarse feeder, scattering her[Pg 8]food over her plate and not infrequently over the table cloth as well, was nothing compared to the young stranger. It was not so much that she ate rapidly and with evident appetite, but that she kept her eyes fixed upon her food, as if she feared someone might deprive her of it. As soon as her plate was empty, she called sharply to the waiter in French, and ordered him to get her some more.

“That’s right, my dear!” exclaimed the Baroness, nodding her huge head, and smiling broadly at the new-comer; “make ’em bring you more! It’s an excellent dish, that! I’ll ’ave some more myself!”

As Philippe deposited the last helping of the entréeon the young lady’s plate, the Baroness thrust hers beneath his nose.

“’Ere!” she said, “bring three more ’elpings for the Baron and Bobby and me!”

The man shook his head to intimate that the dish was finished, but the Baroness was not to be put off with a flimsy excuse. She commenced to make a row. Few meals passed without a squabble of some sort, between the Hotel servants and this terrible woman.

“Now we are in for it again!” murmured Miss Leyton into Mrs. Pullen’s ear. The waiter brought a different entrée, but the Baroness insisted upon having a second helping of tête de veau aux champignons.

“Il n’y a plus, Madame!” asseverated Philippe, with a gesture of deprecation.

“What does ’e say?” demanded the Baroness, who was not good at French.

“There is no more, mein tear!” replied her husband, with a strong German accent.

[Pg 9]

“Confound their impudence!” exclaimed his wife with a heated countenance, “’ere, send Monsieur ’ere at once! I’ll soon see if we’re not to ’ave enough to eat in ’is beastly Hotel!”

All the ladies who understood what she said, looked horrified at such language, but that was of no consequence to Madame Gobelli, who continued to call out at intervals for “Monsieur” until she found the dinner was coming to an end without her, and thought it would be more politic to attend to business and postpone her feud till a more convenient occasion. The Baroness Gobelli was a mystery to most people in the Hotel. She was an enormous woman of the elephant build, with a large, flat face and clumsy hands and feet. Her skin was coarse, so was her hair, so were her features. The only things which redeemed an otherwise repulsive face, were a pair of good-humoured, though cunning blue eyes and a set of firm, white teeth. Who the Baroness had originally been, no one could quite make out. It was evident that she must have sprung from some low origin from her lack of education and breeding, yet she spoke familiarly of aristocratic names, even of Royal ones, and appeared to be acquainted with their families and homes. There was a floating rumour that she had been old Mr. Bates’s cook before he married her, and when he left her a widow with an only child and a considerable fortune, the little German Baron had thought that her money was a fair equivalent for her personality. She was exceedingly vulgar, and when roused, exceedingly vituperative, but she possessed a rough good humour when pleased, and a large amount of natural shrewdness, which stood her instead of cleverness. But[Pg 10]she was an unscrupulous liar, and rather boasted of the fact than otherwise. Having plenty of money at her command, she was used to take violent fancies to people—taking them up suddenly, loading them with presents and favours for as long as it pleased her, and then dropping them as suddenly, without why or wherefore—even insulting them if she could not shake them off without doing so. The Baron was completely under her thumb; more than that, he was servile in her presence, which astonished those people, who did not know that amongst her other arrogant insistences, the Baroness laid claim to holding intercourse with certain supernatural and invisible beings, who had the power to wreak vengeance on all those who offended her. This fear it was, combined with the fact that she had all the money and kept the strings of the bag pretty close where he was concerned, that made the Baron wait upon his wife’s wishes as if he were her slave. Perhaps the softest spot in the Baroness’s heart was kept for her sickly and uninteresting son, Bobby Bates, whom she treated, nevertheless, with the roughness of a tigress for her cub. She kept him still more under her surveillance than she did her husband, and Bobby, though he had attained his nineteenth year, dared not say Boo! to a goose, in presence of his Mamma. As the cheese was handed round, Elinor Leyton rose from her seat with an impatient gesture.

“Do let us get out of this atmosphere, Margaret!” she said in a low tone. “I really cannot stand it any longer!”

The two ladies left the table, and went out beyond the balcony, to where a number of painted iron chairs and tables were placed on the Digue, for the accommodation[Pg 11]of passing wayfarers, who might wish to rest awhile and quench their thirst with limonade or lager beer.

“I wonder who that girl is!” remarked Mrs. Pullen as soon as they were out of hearing. “I don’t know whether I like her or not, but there is something rather distinguished-looking about her!”

“Do you think so?” said Miss Leyton, “I thought she only distinguished herself by eating like a cormorant! I never saw anyone in society gobble her food in such a manner! She made me positively sick!”

“Was it as bad as that?” replied the more quiet Mrs. Pullen, in an indifferent manner. Her eyes were attracted just then by the perambulator which contained her baby, and she rose to meet it.

“How is she, Nurse?” she asked as anxiously as if she had not parted from the infant an hour before. “Has she been awake all the time?”

“Yes, Ma’am, and looking about her like anything! But she seems inclined to sleep now! I thought it was about time to take her in!”

“O! no! not on such a warm, lovely evening! If she does go to sleep in the open air, it will do her no harm. Leave her with me! I want you to go indoors, and find out the name of the young lady who sat opposite to me at dinner to-day, Philippe understands English. He will tell you!”

“Why on earth do you want to know?” demanded Miss Leyton, as the servant disappeared.

“O! I don’t know! I feel a little curious, that is all! She seems so young to be by herself!”

Elinor Leyton answered nothing, but walked across the Digue and stood, looking out over the sea. She was[Pg 12]anticipating the arrival of her fiancé, Captain Ralph Pullen of the Limerick Rangers, but he had delayed his coming to join them, and she began to find Heyst rather dull.

The visitors of the Lion d’Or had finished their meal by this time, and were beginning to reassemble on the Digue, preparatory to taking a stroll before they turned into one of the many cafés-chantants, which were situated at stated intervals in front of the sea. Amongst them came the Baroness Gobelli, leaning heavily on a thick stick with one hand, and her husband’s shoulder with the other. The couple presented an extraordinary appearance, as they perambulated slowly up and down the Digue.

She—with her great height and bulk, towering a head above her companion, whilst he—with a full-sized torso, and short legs—a large hat crammed down upon his forehead, and no neck to speak of, so that the brim appeared to rest upon his shoulders—was a ludicrous figure, as he walked beside his wife, bending under the weight of her support. But yet, she was actually proud of him. Notwithstanding his ill-shaped figure, the Baron possessed one of those mild German faces, with pale watery blue eyes, a long nose, and hair and beard of a reddish-golden colour, which entitled him, in the estimation of some people, to be called a handsome man, and the Baroness was never tired of informing the public that his head and face had once been drawn for that of some celebrated saint.

Her own appearance was really comical, for though she had plenty of means, her want of taste, or indifference to dress, made everyone stare at her as she passed.[Pg 13]On the present occasion, she wore a silk gown which had cost seventeen shillings a yard, with a costly velvet cloak, a bonnet which might have been rescued from the dustbin, and cotton gloves with all her fingers out. She shook her thick walking-stick in Miss Leyton’s face as she passed by her, and called out loud enough for everyone to hear: “And when is the handsome Captain coming to join you, Miss Leyton, eh? Take care he ain’t running after some other gal! ‘When pensive I thought on my L.O.V.E.’ Ha! ha! ha!”

Elinor flushed a delicate pink but did not turn her head, nor take any notice of her tormentor. She detested the Baroness with a perfectly bitter hatred, and her proud cold nature revolted from her coarseness and familiarity.

“Tied to your brat again!” cried the Baroness, as she passed Margaret Pullen who was moving the perambulator gently to and fro by the handle, so as to keep her infant asleep; “why didn’t you put it in the tub as soon as it was born? It would ’ave saved you a heap of trouble! I often wish I had done so by that devil Bobby! ’Ere, where are you, Bobby?”

“I’m close behind you, Mamma!” replied the simple-looking youth.

“Well! don’t you get running away from your father and me, and winking at the gals! There’s time enough for that, ain’t there, Gustave?” she concluded, addressing the Baron.

“Come along, Robert, and mind what your mother tells you!” said the Herr Baron with his guttural German accent, as the extraordinary trio pursued their way down[Pg 14]the Digue, the Baroness making audible remarks on everybody she met, as they went.

Margaret Pullen sat where they had left her, moving about the perambulator, whilst her eyes, like Elinor’s, were fixed upon the tranquil water. The August sun had now quite disappeared, and the indescribably faint and unpleasant odour, which is associated with the dunes of Heyst, had begun to make itself apparent. A still languor had crept over everything, and there were indications of a thunderstorm in the air. She was thinking of her husband, Colonel Arthur Pullen, the elder brother of Miss Leyton’s fiancé, who was toiling out in India for baby and herself. It had been a terrible blow to Margaret, to let him go out alone after only one year of happy wedded life, but the expected advent of her little daughter at the time, had prohibited her undertaking so long a journey and she had been compelled to remain behind. And now baby was six months old, and Colonel Pullen hoped to be home by Christmas, so had advised her to wait for his return. But her thoughts were sad sometimes, notwithstanding.

Events happen so unexpectedly in this world—who could say for certain that she and her husband would ever meet again—that Arthur would ever see his little girl, or that she should live to place her in her father’s arms? But such a state of feeling was morbid, she knew, and she generally made an effort to shake it off. The nurse, returning with the information she had sent her to acquire, roused her from her reverie.

“If you please, Ma’am, the young lady’s name is Brandt, and Philippe says she came from London!”

[Pg 15]

“English! I should never have guessed it!” observed Mrs. Pullen, “She speaks French so well.”

“Shall I take the baby now, Ma’am?”

“Yes! Wheel her along the Digue. I shall come and meet you by and by!”

As the servant obeyed her orders, she called to Miss Leyton.

“Elinor! come here!”

“What is it?” asked Miss Leyton, seating herself beside her.

“The new girl’s name is Brandt and she comes from England! Would you have believed it?”

“I did not take sufficient interest in her to make any speculations on the subject. I only observed that she had a mouth from ear to ear, and ate like a pig! What does it concern us, where she comes from?”

At that moment, a Mrs. Montague, who, with her husband, was conveying a family of nine children over to Brussels, under the mistaken impression, that they would be able to live cheaper there than in England, came down the Hotel steps with half a dozen of them, clinging to her skirts, and went straight up to Margaret Pullen.

“O! Mrs. Pullen! What is that young lady’s name, who sat opposite to you at dinner? Everybody is asking! I hear she is enormously rich, and travelling alone. Did you see the lace on her dress? Real Valenciennes, and the diamond rings she wore! Frederick says they must be worth a lot of money. She must be someone of consequence I should imagine!”

“On the contrary, my nurse tells me she is English and her name is Brandt. Has she no friends here?”

[Pg 16]

“Madame Lamont says she arrived in company with another girl, but they are located at different parts of the Hotel. It seems very strange, does it not?”

“And it sounds very improper!” interposed Elinor Leyton, “I should say the less we have to say to her, the better! You never know what acquaintances you may make in a place like this! When I look up and down the table d’hôte menagerie sometimes, it makes me quite ill!”

“Does it?” rejoined Mrs. Montague, “I think it’s so amusing! That Baroness Gobelli, for instance——”

“Don’t mention her before me!” cried Miss Leyton, in a tone of disgust, “the woman is not fit for civilised society!”

“She is rather common, certainly, and strange in her behaviour,” said Mrs. Montague, “but she is very good-natured. She gave my little Edward a louis yesterday. I felt quite ashamed to let him take it!”

“That just proves her vulgarity,” exclaimed Elinor Leyton, who had not a sixpence to give away, herself, “it shows that she thinks her money will atone for all her other shortcomings! She gave that Miss Taylor who left last week, a valuable brooch off her own throat. And poor payment too, for all the dirty things she made her do and the ridicule she poured upon her. I daresay this nouveau riche will try to curry favour with us by the same means.”

At that moment, the girl under discussion, Miss Brandt, appeared on the balcony, which was only raised a few feet above where they sat. She wore the same dress she had at dinner, with the addition of a little fleecy shawl about her shoulders. She stood smiling,[Pg 17]and looking at the ladies (who had naturally dropped all discussion about her) for a few moments, and then she ventured to descend the steps between the rampant gilded lions, and almost timidly, as it seemed, took up a position near them. Mrs. Pullen felt that she could not be so discourteous as to take no notice whatever of the new-comer, and so, greatly to Miss Leyton’s disgust, she uttered quietly, “Good evening!”

It was quite enough for Miss Brandt. She drew nearer with smiles mantling over her face.

“Good evening! Isn’t it lovely here?—so soft and warm, something like the Island, but so much fresher!”

She looked up and down the Digue, now crowded with a multitude of visitors, and drew in her breath with a long sigh of content.

“How gay and happy they all seem, and how happy I am too! Do you know, if I had my will, what I should like to do?” she said, addressing Mrs. Pullen.

“No! indeed!”

“I should like to tear up and down this road as hard as ever I could, throwing my arms over my head and screaming aloud!”

The ladies exchanged glances of astonishment, but Margaret Pullen could not forbear smiling as she asked their new acquaintance the reason why.

“O! because I am free—free at last, after ten long years of imprisonment! I am telling you the truth, I am indeed, and you would feel just the same if you had been shut up in a horrid Convent ever since you were eleven years old!”

At the word “convent”, the national Protestant horror immediately spread itself over the faces of the three[Pg 18]other ladies; Mrs. Montague gathered her flock about her and took them out of the way of possible contamination, though she would have much preferred to hear the rest of Miss Brandt’s story, and Elinor Leyton moved her chair further away. But Margaret Pullen was interested and encouraged the girl to proceed.

“In a convent! I suppose then you are a Roman Catholic!”

Harriet Brandt suddenly opened her slumbrous eyes.

“I don’t think so! I’m not quite sure what I am! Of course I’ve had any amount of religion crammed down my throat in the Convent, and I had to follow their prayers, whilst there, but I don’t believe my parents were Catholics! But it does not signify, I am my own mistress now. I can be what I like!”

“You have been so unfortunate then as to lose your parents!”

“O! yes! years ago, that is why my guardian, Mr. Trawler, placed me in the Convent for my education. And I’ve been there for ten years! Is it not a shame? I’m twenty-one now! That’s why I’m free! You see,” the girl went on confidentially, “my parents left me everything, and as soon as I came of age I entered into possession of it. My guardian, Mr. Trawler, who lives in Jamaica,—did I tell you that I’ve come from Jamaica?—thought I should live with him and his wife, when I left the Convent, and pay them for my keep, but I refused. They had kept me too tight! I wanted to see the world and life—it was what I had been looking forward to—so as soon as my affairs were settled, I left the West Indies and came over here!”

“They said you came from England in the Hotel!”

[Pg 19]

“So I did! The steamer came to London and I stayed there a week before I came on here!”

“But you are too young to travel about by yourself, Miss Brandt! English young ladies never do so!” said Mrs. Pullen.

“I’m not by myself, exactly! Olga Brimont, who was in the Convent with me, came too. But she is ill, so she’s upstairs. She has come to her brother who is in Brussels, and we travelled together. We had the same cabin on board the steamer, and Olga was very ill. One night the doctor thought she was going to die! I stayed with her all the time. I used to sit up with her at night, but it did her no good. We stopped in London because we wanted to buy some dresses and things, but she was not able to go out, and I had to go alone. Her brother is away from Brussels at present so he wrote her to stay in Heyst till he could fetch her, and as I had nowhere particular to go, I came with her! And she is better already! She has been fast asleep all the afternoon!”

“And what will you do when your friend leaves you?” asked Mrs. Pullen.

“O! I don’t know! Travel about, I suppose! I shall go wherever it may please me!”

“Are you not going to take a walk this evening?” demanded Elinor Leyton in a low voice of her friend, wishing to put a stop to the conversation.

“Certainly! I told nurse I would join her and baby by-and-by!”

“Shall I fetch your hat then?” enquired Miss Leyton, as she rose to go up to their apartments.

[Pg 20]

“Yes! if you will, dear, please, and my velvet cape, in case it should turn chilly!”

“I will fetch mine too!” cried Miss Brandt, jumping up with alacrity. “I may go with you, mayn’t I? I’ll just tell Olga that I’m going out and be down again in five minutes!” and without waiting for an answer, she was gone.

“See what you have brought upon us!” remarked Elinor in a vexed tone.

“Well! it was not my fault,” replied Margaret, “and after all, what does it signify? It is only a little act of courtesy to an unprotected girl. I don’t dislike her, Elinor! She is very familiar and communicative, but fancy what it must be like to find herself her own mistress, and with money at her command, after ten years’ seclusion within the four walls of a convent! It is enough to turn the head of any girl. I think it would be very churlish to refuse to be friendly with her!”

“Well! I hope it may turn out all right! But you must remember how Ralph cautioned us against making any acquaintances in a foreign hotel.”

“But I am not under Ralph’s orders, though you may be, and I should not care to go entirely by the advice of so very fastidious and exclusive a gentleman as he is! My Arthur would never find fault with me, I am sure, for being friendly with a young unmarried girl.”

“Anyway, Margaret, let me entreat you not to discuss my private affairs with this new protégée of yours. I don’t want to see her saucer eyes goggling over the news of my engagement to your brother-in-law!”

“Certainly I will not, since you ask it! But you hardly[Pg 21]expect to keep it a secret when Ralph comes down here, do you?”

“Why not? Why need anyone know more than that he is your husband’s brother?”

“I expect they know a good deal more now,” said Margaret, laughing. “The news that you are the Honourable Elinor Leyton and that your father is Baron Walthamstowe, was known all over Heyst the second day we were here. And I have no doubt it has been succeeded by the interesting intelligence that you are engaged to marry Captain Pullen. You cannot keep servants’ tongues from wagging, you know!”

“I suppose not!” replied Elinor, with a moue of contempt. “However, they will learn no more through me or Ralph. We are not ‘’Arry and ’Arriet’ to sit on the Digue with our arms round each other’s waists.”

“Still—there are signs and symptoms,” said Margaret, laughing.

“There will be none with us!” rejoined Miss Leyton, indignantly, as Harriet Brandt, with a black lace hat on, trimmed with yellow roses, and a little fichu tied carelessly across her bosom, ran lightly down the steps to join them.

Chapter 2

The Digue was crowded by that time. All Heyst had turned out to enjoy the evening air and to partake in the gaiety of the place. A band was playing on the movable orchestra, which was towed by three skinny little donkeys, day after day, from one end of the Digue to the other. To-night, it was its turn to be in the[Pg 22] middle, where a large company of people was sitting on green painted chairs that cost ten centimes for hire each, whilst children danced, or ran madly round and round its base. Everyone had changed his, or her, seaside garb for more fashionable array—even the children were robed in white frocks and gala hats—and the whole scene was gay and festive. Harriet Brandt ran from one side to the other of the Digue, as though she also had been a child. Everything she saw seemed to astonish and delight her. First, she was gazing out over the calm and placid water—and next, she was exclaiming at the bits of rubbish in the shape of embroidered baskets, or painted shells, exhibited in the shop windows, which were side by side with the private houses and hotels, forming a long line of buildings fronting the water.

She kept on declaring that she wanted to buy that or this, and lamenting she had not brought more money with her.

“You will have plenty of opportunities to select and purchase what you want to-morrow,” said Mrs. Pullen, “and you will be better able to judge what they are like. They look better under the gas than they do by daylight, I can assure you, Miss Brandt!”

“O! but they are lovely—delightful!” replied the girl, enthusiastically, “I never saw anything so pretty before! Do look at that little doll in a bathing costume, with her cap in one hand, her sponge in the other! She is charming—unique! Tout ce qu’il y a de plus beau!”

She spoke French perfectly, and when she spoke English, it was with a slightly foreign accent, that greatly enhanced its charm. It made Mrs. Pullen observe:

[Pg 23]

“You are more used to speaking French than English, Miss Brandt!”

“Yes! We always spoke French in the Convent, and it is in general use in the Island. But I thought—I hoped—that I spoke English like an Englishwoman! I am an Englishwoman, you know!”

“Are you? I was not quite sure! Brandt sounds rather German!”

“No! my father was English, his name was Henry Brandt, and my mother was a Miss Carey—daughter of one of the Justices of Barbadoes!”

“O! indeed!” replied Mrs. Pullen. She did not know what else to say. The subject was of no interest to her! At that moment they encountered the nurse and perambulator, and she naturally stopped to speak to her baby.

The sight of the infant seemed to drive Miss Brandt wild.

“O! is that your baby, Mrs. Pullen, is that really your baby?” she exclaimed excitedly, “you never told me you had one. O! the darling! the sweet dear little angel! I love little white babies! I adore them. They are so sweet and fresh and clean—so different from the little niggers who smell so nasty, you can’t touch them! We never saw a baby in the Convent, and so few English children live to grow up in Jamaica! O! let me hold her! let me carry her! I must!”

She was about to seize the infant in her arms, when the mother interposed.

“No, Miss Brandt, please, not this evening! She is but half awake, and has arrived at that age when she[Pg 24] is frightened of strangers. Another time perhaps, when she has become used to you, but not now!”

“But I will be so careful of her, pretty dear!” persisted the girl, “I will nurse her so gently, that she will fall to sleep again in my arms. Come! my little love, come!” she continued to the baby, who pouted her lips and looked as if she were going to cry.

“Leave her alone!” exclaimed Elinor Leyton in a sharp voice. “Do you not hear what Mrs. Pullen says—that you are not to touch her!”

She spoke so acridly, that gentle Margaret Pullen felt grieved for the look of dismay that darted into Harriet Brandt’s face on hearing it.

“O! I am sorry—I didn’t mean—” she stammered, with a side glance at Margaret.

“Of course you did not mean anything but what was kind,” said Mrs. Pullen, “Miss Leyton perfectly understands that, and when baby is used to you, I daresay she will be very grateful for your attentions. But to-night she is sleepy and tired, and, perhaps, a little cross. Take her home, Nurse,” she went on, “and put her to bed! Good-night, my sweet!” and the perambulator passed them and was gone.

An awkward silence ensued between the three women after this little incident. Elinor Leyton walked somewhat apart from her companions, as if she wished to avoid all further controversy, whilst Margaret Pullen sought some way by which to atone for her friend’s rudeness to the young stranger. Presently they came across one of the cafés chantants which are attached to the seaside hotels, and which was brilliantly lighted up. A large awning was spread outside, to shelter some[Pg 25] dozens of chairs and tables, most of which were already occupied. The windows of the hotel salon had been thrown wide open, to accommodate some singers and musicians, who advanced in turn and stood on the threshold to amuse the audience. As they approached the scene, a tenor in evening dress was singing a love song, whilst the musicians accompanied his voice from the salon, and the occupants of the chairs were listening with rapt attention.

“How charming! how delightful!” cried Harriet Brandt, as they reached the spot, “I never saw anything like this in the Island!”

“You appear never to have seen anything!” remarked Miss Leyton, with a sneer. Miss Brandt glanced apologetically at Mrs. Pullen.

“How could I see anything, when I was in the Convent?” she said, “I know there are places of entertainment in the Island, but I was never allowed to go to any. And in London, there was no one for me to go with! I should so much like to go in there,” indicating the café. “Will you come with me, both of you I mean, and I will pay for everything! I have plenty of money, you know!”

“There is nothing to pay, my dear, unless you call for refreshment,” was Margaret’s reply. “Yes, I will go with you certainly, if you so much wish it! Elinor, you won’t mind, will you?”

But Miss Leyton was engaged talking to a Monsieur and Mademoiselle Vieuxtemps—an old brother and sister, resident in the Lion d’Or—who had stopped to wish her Good-evening! They were dear, good old people, but rather monotonous and dull, and Elinor had[Pg 26] more than once ridiculed their manner of talking and voted them the most terrible bores. Mrs. Pullen concluded therefore, that she would get rid of them as soon as courtesy permitted her to do so, and follow her. With a smile and a bow therefore, to the Vieuxtemps, she pushed her way through the crowd with Harriet Brandt, to where she perceived that three seats were vacant, and took possession of them. They were not good seats for hearing or seeing, being to one side of the salon, and quite in the shadow, but the place was so full that she saw no chance of getting any others. As soon as they were seated, the waiter came round for orders, and it was with difficulty that Mrs. Pullen prevented her companion purchasing sufficient liqueurs and cakes to serve double the number of their company.

“You must allow me to pay for myself, Miss Brandt,” she said gravely, “or I will never accompany you anywhere again!”

“But I have lots of money,” pleaded the girl, “much more than I know what to do with—it would be a pleasure to me, it would indeed!”

But Mrs. Pullen was resolute, and three limonades only were placed upon their table. Elinor Leyton had not yet made her appearance, and Mrs. Pullen kept craning her neck over the other seats to see where she might be, without success.

“She cannot have missed us!” she observed, “I wonder if she can have continued her walk with the Vieuxtemps!”

“O! what does it signify?” said Harriet, drawing her chair closer to that of Mrs. Pullen, “we can do very well without her. I don’t think she’s very nice, do you?”

[Pg 27]

“You must not speak of Miss Leyton like that to me, Miss Brandt,” remonstrated Margaret, gently, “because—she is a great friend of our family.”

She had been going to say, “Because she will be my sister-in-law before long,” but remembered Elinor’s request in time, and substituted the other sentence.

“I don’t think she’s very kind, though,” persisted the other.

“It is only her manner, Miss Brandt! She does not mean anything by it!”

“But you are so different,” said the girl as she crept still closer, “I could see it when you smiled at me at dinner. I knew I should like you at once. And I want you to like me too—so much! It has been the dream of my life to have some friends. That is why I would not stay in Jamaica. I don’t like the people there! I want friends—real friends!”

“But you must have had plenty of friends of your own age in the Convent.”

“That shows you don’t know anything about a convent! It’s the very last place where they will let you make a friend—they’re afraid lest you should tell each other too much! The convent I was in was an Ursuline order, and even the nuns were obliged to walk three and three, never two, together, lest they should have secrets between them. As for us girls, we were never left alone for a single minute! There was always a sister with us, even at night, walking up and down between the rows of beds, pretending to read her prayers, but with her eyes on us the whole time and her ears open to catch what we said. I suppose they were afraid we should talk about lovers. I think girls do talk about[Pg 28] them when they can, more in convents than in other places, though they have never had any. It would be so dreadful to be like the poor nuns, and never have a lover to the end of one’s days, wouldn’t it?”

“You would not fancy being a nun then, Miss Brandt!”

“I—Oh! dear no! I would rather be dead, twenty times over! But they didn’t like my coming out at all. They did try so hard to persuade me to remain with them for ever! One of them, Sister Féodore, told me I must never talk even with gentlemen, if I could avoid it—that they were all wicked and nothing they said was true, and if I trusted them, they would only laugh at me afterwards for my pains. But I don’t believe that, do you?”

“Certainly not!” replied Margaret warmly. “The sister who told you so knew nothing about men. My dear husband is more like an angel than a man, and there are many like him. You mustn’t believe such nonsense, Miss Brandt! I am sure you never heard your parents say such a silly thing!”

“O! my father and mother! I never remember hearing them say anything!” replied Miss Brandt. She had crept closer and closer to Mrs. Pullen as she spoke, and now encircled her waist with her arm, and leaned her head upon her shoulder. It was not a position that Margaret liked, nor one she would have expected from a woman on so short an acquaintance, but she did not wish to appear unkind by telling Miss Brandt to move further away. The poor girl was evidently quite unused to the ways and customs of Society, she seemed moreover very friendless and dependent—so Margaret laid her solecism down to ignorance and let her head rest[Pg 29] where she had placed it, resolving inwardly meanwhile that she would not subject herself to be treated in so familiar a manner again.

“Don’t you remember your parents then?” she asked her presently.

“Hardly! I saw so little of them,” said Miss Brandt, “my father was a great doctor and scientist, I believe, and I am not quite sure if he knew that he had a daughter!”

“O! my dear, what nonsense!”

“But it is true, Mrs. Pullen! He was always shut up in his laboratory, and I was not allowed to go near that part of the house. I suppose he was very clever and all that—but he was too much engaged in making experiments to take any notice of me, and I am sure I never wanted to see him!”

“How very sad! But you had your mother to turn to for consolation and company, whilst she lived, surely?”

“O! my mother!” echoed Harriet, carelessly. “Yes! my mother! Well! I don’t think I knew much more of her either. The ladies in Jamaica get very lazy, you know, and keep a good deal to their own rooms. The person there I loved best of all, was old Pete, the overseer!”

“The overseer!”

“Of the estate and niggers, you know! We had plenty of niggers on the coffee plantation, regular African fellows, with woolly heads and blubber lips, and yellow whites to their eyes. When I was a little thing of four years old, Pete used to let me whip the little niggers for a treat, when they had done anything wrong. It used[Pg 30] to make me laugh to see them wriggle their legs under the whip and cry!”

“O! don’t, Miss Brandt!” exclaimed Margaret Pullen, in a voice of pain.

“It’s true, but they deserved it, you know, the little wretches, always thieving or lying or something! I’ve seen a woman whipped to death, because she wouldn’t work. We think nothing of that sort of thing, over there. Still—you can’t wonder that I was glad to get out of the Island. But I loved old Pete, and if he had been alive when I left, I would have brought him to England with me. He used to carry me for miles through the jungle on his back,—out in the fresh mornings and the cool, dewy eves. I had a pony to ride, but I never went anywhere, without his hand upon my bridle rein. He was always so afraid lest I should come to any harm. I don’t think anybody else cared. Pete was the only creature who ever loved me, and when I think of Jamaica, I remember my old nigger servant as the one friend I had there!”

“It is very, very sad!” was all that Mrs. Pullen could say.

She had become fainter and fainter, as the girl leaned against her with her head upon her breast. Some sensation which she could not define, nor account for—some feeling which she had never experienced before—had come over her and made her head reel. She felt as if something or someone, were drawing all her life away. She tried to disengage herself from the girl’s clasp, but Harriet Brandt seemed to come after her, like a coiling snake, till she could stand it no longer, and faintly exclaiming:

[Pg 31]

“Miss Brandt! let go of me, please! I feel ill!” she rose and tried to make her way between the crowded tables, towards the open air. As she stumbled along, she came against (to her great relief) her friend, Elinor Leyton.

“O! Elinor!” she gasped, “I don’t know what is the matter with me! I feel so strange, so light-headed! Do take me home!”

Miss Leyton dragged her through the audience, and made her sit down on a bench, facing the sea.

“Why! what’s the matter?” demanded Harriet Brandt, who had made her way after them, “is Mrs. Pullen ill?”

“So it appears,” replied Miss Leyton, coldly, “but how it happened, you should know better than myself! I suppose it is very warm in there!”

“No! no! I do not think so,” said Margaret, with a bewildered air, “we had chairs close to the side. And Miss Brandt was telling me of her life in Jamaica, when such an extraordinary sensation came over me! I can’t describe it! it was just as if I had been scooped hollow!”

At this description, Harriet Brandt burst into a loud laugh, but Elinor frowned her down.

“It may seem a laughing matter to you, Miss Brandt,” she said, in the same cold tone, “but it is none to me. Mrs. Pullen is far from strong, and her health is not to be trifled with. However, I shall not let her out of my sight again.”

“Don’t make a fuss about it, Elinor,” pleaded her friend, “it was my own fault, if anyone’s. I think there must be a thunderstorm in the air, I have felt so oppressed all the evening. Or is the smell from the dunes[Pg 32] worse than usual? Perhaps I ate something at dinner that disagreed with me!”

“I cannot understand it at all,” replied Miss Leyton, “you are not used to fainting, or being suddenly attacked in any way. However, if you feel able to walk, let us go back to the Hotel. Miss Brandt will doubtless find someone to finish the evening with!”

Harriet was just about to reply that she knew no one but themselves, and to offer to take Mrs. Pullen’s arm on the other side, when Elinor Leyton cut her short.

“No! thank you, Miss Brandt! Mrs. Pullen would, I am sure, prefer to return to the Hotel alone with me! You can easily join the Vieuxtemps or any other of the visitors to the Lion d’Or. There is not much ceremony observed amongst the English at these foreign places. It would be better perhaps if there were a little more! Come, Margaret, take my arm, and we will walk as slowly as you like! But I shall not be comfortable until I see you safe in your own room!”

So the two ladies moved off together, leaving Harriet Brandt standing disconsolately on the Digue, watching their departure. Mrs. Pullen had uttered a faint Good-night to her, but had made no suggestion that she should walk back with them, and it seemed to the girl as if they both, in some measure, blamed her for the illness of her companion. What had she done, she asked herself, as she reviewed what had passed between them, that could in any way account for Mrs. Pullen’s illness? She liked her so much—so very much—she had so hoped she was going to be her friend—she would have done anything and given anything sooner than put her to inconvenience in any way. As the two ladies[Pg 33] moved slowly out of sight, Harriet turned sadly and walked the other way. She felt lonely and disappointed. She knew no one to speak to, and there was a cold empty feeling in her breast, as though, in losing her hold on Margaret Pullen, she had lost something on which she had depended. Something of her feeling must have communicated itself to Margaret Pullen, for after a minute or two she stopped and said,

“I don’t half like leaving Miss Brandt by herself, Elinor! She is very young to be wandering about a town by night and alone!”

“Nonsense!” returned Miss Leyton, shortly, “a young lady who can make the voyage from Jamaica to Heyst on her own account, knocking about in London for a week on the way, is surely competent to walk back to the Hotel without your assistance. I should say that Miss Brandt was a very independent young woman!”

“Perhaps, by nature, but she has been shut up in a convent for the best part of her life, and that is not considered to be a good preparation for fighting one’s way through the world!”

“She’ll be able to fight her own battles, never fear!” was Elinor’s reply.

Just then they encountered Bobby Bates, who lifted his cap as he hurried past them.

“Where are you going so fast, Mr. Bates?” said Elinor Leyton.

“I am going back to the Hotel to fetch Mamma’s fur boa!” he answered.

They were passing a lighted lamp at the time, and she noticed that the lad’s eyes were red, and his features bore traces of distress.

[Pg 34]

“Are you ill?” she enquired quickly, “or in any trouble?”

He halted for a minute in his stride.

“No! no! not exactly,” he said in a low voice, and then, as if the words came from him against his will, he went on, “But O! I do wish someone would speak to Mamma about the way she treats me. It’s cruel—to strike me with her stick before all those people, as if I were a baby, and to call me such names! Even the servant William laughs at me! Do all mothers do the same, Miss Leyton? Ought a man to stand it quietly?”

“Decidedly not!” cried Elinor, without hesitation.

“O! Elinor! remember, she is his mother,” remonstrated Margaret, “don’t say anything to set him against her!”

“But I was nineteen last birthday,” continued the lad, “and sometimes she treats me in such a manner, that I can’t bear it! The Baron dare not say a word to her! She swears at him so. Sometimes, I think I will run away and go to sea!”

“No! no! you mustn’t do that!” called Miss Leyton after him, as he quickened his footsteps in the direction of the Lion d’Or.

“What an awful woman!” sighed Mrs. Pullen. “Fancy! striking her own son in public, and with that thick stick too. I believe he had been crying!”

“I am sure he had,” replied her friend, “you can see the poor fellow is half-witted, and very weakly into the bargain. I suppose she has beaten his brains to a pap. What a terrible misfortune to have such a mother! You should hear some of the stories Madame Lamont has to tell of her!”

[Pg 35]

“But how does she hear them?”

“Through the Baron’s servant William, I suppose. He says the Baroness has often taken her stick to him and the other servants, and thinks no more of swearing at them than a trooper! They all hate her. One day, she took up a kitchen cleaver and advanced upon her coachman with it, but he seized her by both arms and sat her down upon the fire, whence she was only rescued after being somewhat severely burned!”

“It served her right!” exclaimed Margaret, laughing at the ludicrous idea, “but what a picture she must have presented, seated on the kitchen range! Where can the woman have been raised? What sort of a person can she be?”

“Not what she pretends, Margaret, you may be sure of that! All her fine talk of lords and ladies is so much bunkum. But I pity the poor little Baron, who is, at all events, inoffensive. How can he put up with such a wife! He must feel very much ashamed of her sometimes!”

“And yet he seems devoted to her! He never leaves her side for a moment. He is her walking stick, her fetcher and carrier, and her scribe. I don’t believe she can write a letter!”

“And yet she was talking at the table d’hôte yesterday of the Duke of This and the Earl of That, and hinting at her having stayed at Osborne and Windsor. Of course they are falsehoods! She has never seen the inside of a palace unless it was in the capacity of a char-woman! Have you observed her hair? It is as coarse as a horse-tail! And her hands! Bobby informed me the other day that his Mamma took nines in gloves! She’s not a woman, my dear! She’s a female elephant!”

[Pg 36]

Margaret was laughing still, when they reached the steps of the Lion d’Or.

“You are very naughty and very scandalous, Elinor,” she said, “but you have done me a world of good. My unpleasant feelings have quite gone. I am quite capable of continuing our walk if you would like to do so.”

“No such thing, Madam,” replied Miss Leyton. “I am responsible for your well-doing in Arthur’s absence. Upstairs and into bed you go, unless you would like a cup of coffee and a chasse first. That is the only indulgence I can grant you.”

But Mrs. Pullen declined the proffered refreshment, and the two ladies sought their rooms in company.

Chapter 3

The next morning dawned upon a perfect August day. The sun streamed brightly over every part of Heyst, turning the loose dry yellow sand (from end to end of which not a stone or boulder was to be seen), into a veritable cloth of gold. The patient asses, carrying their white-covered saddles, and tied to stakes, were waiting in a row for hire, whilst some dozen Rosinantes, called by courtesy, horses, were also of the company. The sands were already strewn with children, their short petticoats crammed into a pair of bathing-drawers, and their heads protected by linen hats or bonnets, digging away at the dry sand as if their lives depended on their efforts. The bathing-machines, painted in gay stripes of green, red, blue, or orange, were hauled down, ready for action, and the wooden tents, which can be hired for the[Pg 37] season at any foreign watering place, were being swept out and arranged for the day’s use.

Some of the more pretentious ones, belonging to private families, were surmounted by a gilt coronet, the proud possession of the Comte Darblaye, or the Herr Baron Grumplestein—sported flags moreover of France or Germany, and were screened from the eyes of the vulgar, by lace or muslin curtains, tied up with blue ribbons. On the balcony of the Lion d’Or, where the visitors always took their breakfast, were arranged tables, piled with dishes of crevettes, fresh from the sea, pistolets, and beautiful butter as white and tasteless as cream. It was a delight to breakfast on the open balcony, with the sea breeze blowing in one’s face, and in the intervals of eating prawns and bread and butter, or perusing the morning papers, to watch the cheerful scene below.

The Baroness was there, early of course. She, and her husband, and the ill-used Bobby, occupied a table to themselves, whence she addressed her remarks to whomever she chose, whether they wished to listen, or not, and the Baron shelled her crevettes and buttered her pistolets for her. Margaret and Elinor were rather later than usual, for Mrs. Pullen had not passed a good night, and Miss Leyton would not have her disturbed.

Harriet Brandt was there as they appeared, and beside her, a pale, unhealthy-looking young woman, whom she introduced as her friend, and travelling companion, Olga Brimont.

“Olga did not wish to come down. She thought she would lie another day in bed, but I made her get up and dress, and I was right, wasn’t I, Mrs. Pullen?”

“I think the fresh air will do Mademoiselle Brimont[Pg 38] more good than the close bedroom, if she is strong enough to stand it!” replied Margaret, with a smile. “I am afraid you are still feeling weak,” she continued, to the new-comer.

“I feel better than I did on board the steamer, or in London,” said Mademoiselle Brimont. She was an under-sized girl with plain features, and did not shew off to advantage beside her travelling companion.

“Did you suffer so much from sea-sickness? I can sympathise with you, as I am a very bad sailor myself!”

“O! no! Madame, it was not the mal de mer. I can hardly tell you what it was. Miss Brandt and I occupied a small cabin together, and perhaps, it was because it was so small, but I did not feel as if I could breathe there—such a terrible oppression as though some one were sitting on my chest—and such a general feeling of emptiness. It was the same in London, though Miss Brandt did all she could for me, indeed she sat up with me all night, till I feared she would be ill herself—but I feel better now! Last night I slept for the first time since leaving Jamaica!”

“That is right! You will soon get well in this lovely air!”

They all sat down at the same table, and commenced to discuss their rolls and coffee. Margaret Pullen, glancing up once, was struck by the look with which Harriet Brandt was regarding her—it was so full of yearning affection—almost of longing to approach her nearer, to hear her speak, to touch her hand! It amused her to observe it! She had heard of cases, in which young unsophisticated girls had taken unaccountable affections for members of their own sex, and trusted she was not[Pg 39] going to form the subject for some such experience on Miss Brandt’s part. The idea made her address her conversation more to Mademoiselle Brimont, than to her companion of the evening before.

“I suppose you and Miss Brandt were great friends in the Convent,” she said.

“O! no, Madame, we hardly ever saw each other whilst there, except in chapel. There is so much difference in our ages, I am only seventeen, and was in the lower school, whilst Miss Brandt did hardly any lessons during the two last years she spent there. But I was very glad to have her company across to England. My brother would have sent for me last year, if he could have heard of a lady to travel with me!”

“Are you going on to join your brother soon?”

“He says he will fetch me, Madame, as soon as he can be spared from his business. He is my only relation. My parents died, like Miss Brandt’s, in the West Indies.”

“Well! you must be sure and get your looks back before he arrives!” said Margaret, kindly.

The head waiter now appeared with the letters from England, amongst which was one for Miss Leyton in a firm, manly handwriting, with a regimental crest in blue and gold upon the envelope. Her face did not change in the least as she broke the seal, although it came from her fiancé, Captain Ralph Pullen. Elinor Leyton’s was an exceptionally cold face, and it matched her disposition. She had attractive features;—a delicate nose, carved as if in ivory—brown eyes, a fair rose-tinted complexion, and a small mouth with thin, firmly closed lips. Her hair was bronze-coloured, and it was always[Pg 40] dressed to perfection. She had a good figure too, with small hands and feet—and she was robed in excellent taste. She was pre-eminently a woman for a man to be proud of as the mistress of his house, and the head of his table. She might be trusted never to say or do an unladylike thing—before all, she was cognisant of the obligations which devolved upon her as the daughter of Lord Walthamstowe and a member of the British aristocracy. But in disposition she was undoubtedly cold, and her fiancé had already begun to find it out. Their engagement had come about neither of them quite knew how, but he liked the idea of being connected with an aristocratic family, and she was proud of having won a man, for whom many caps had been pulled in vain. He was considered to be one of the handsomest men of his generation, and she was what people called an unexceptional match for him. She was fond of him in her way, but her way was a strange one. She called the attitude she assumed towards him, a proper and ladylike reserve, but impartial spectators, with stronger feelings, would have deemed it indifference.

However, like the proverbial dog in the manger, whether she valued her rights in Captain Pullen or not, Miss Leyton had no intention of permitting them to be interfered with. She would have died sooner than admit that he was necessary to her happiness,—at the same time she considered it due to her dignity as a woman, never to give in to his wishes, when they opposed her own, and often when they did not.

She displayed no particular enthusiasm when they met, nor distress when they parted—neither was she ever troubled by any qualms lest during their frequent[Pg 41] separations, he should meet some woman whom he might perchance prefer to herself. They were engaged, and when the proper time came they would marry—meanwhile their private affairs concerned no one but themselves. In short, Elinor Leyton was not what is termed “a man’s woman”—all her friends (if she had any) were of her own sex.

Having perused her letter, she refolded and replaced it in its envelope without a glance in the direction of Mrs. Pullen. Margaret thought she had a right to be informed of her brother-in-law’s movements. She had invited Miss Leyton to accompany her to Heyst at his request, and any preparations which might be requisite before he joined them, would have to be made by herself.

“Is that from Ralph? What does he say?” she enquired in a low voice.

“Nothing in particular!”

“But when may we expect him at Heyst?”

“Next week, he says, in time for the Bataille des Fleurs!”

“Are you not pleased?”

“Of course I am!” replied Elinor, but without a sparkle or blush.

“O! if it were only my Arthur that were coming!” exclaimed Margaret, fervently, “I should go mad with joy!”

“Then it is just as well perhaps that it is not your Arthur!” rejoined her companion, as she put the letter into her pocket.

“Now, Bobby,” announced the strident tones of the Baroness Gobelli from the other side of the balcony, “leave off picking the shrimps! You’ve ’ad more than[Pg 42] enough! Ain’t bread and butter good enough for you? What’ll you want next?”

“But, Mamma,” pleaded the youth, “I’ve only had a few! I’ve been shelling Papa’s all this time!”

“Put ’em down at once, I say!” reiterated the Baroness, “’ere William, take Bobby’s plate away! He’s ’ad plenty for this morning!”

“But I haven’t begun yet. I’m hungry!” remonstrated Bobby.

“Take ’is plate away!” roared the Baroness. “’Ang it all! Can’t you ’ear what I say?”

“Mein tear! mein tear!” ejaculated the Herr Baron in a subdued voice.

“Leave me alone, Gustave! Do you suppose I can’t manage my own son? He ain’t yours! ’E’d make ’imself ill if I didn’t look after him. Take ’is plate away, at once!”

The man-servant William lifted the plate of peeled shrimps and bread and butter from the table, whilst Bobby with a very red face rose from his seat and rushed down the steps to the beach.

“He! he! he!” cackled the Baroness, “that’ll teach ’im not to fiddle with ’is food another time! Bobby don’t care for an empty belly!”

“What a shame!” murmured Margaret, who was nothing if she was not a mother, “now the poor boy will go without his breakfast.”

Presently, William was to be seen sneaking past the Hotel with a parcel in his hands. The Baroness pounced upon him like a cat upon a mouse.

“William!” she cried from the balcony, “what ’ave you got in your ’and?”

[Pg 43]

“Summat of my own, my lady!”

“Bring it ’ere!”

The man mounted the steps and stood before his mistress. He held a parcel in his hands, wrapped up in a table napkin.

“Open that parcel!” said the Baroness.

“Indeed, my lady, it’s only the shrimps as Master Robert left behind him and I thought they would make me a little relish on the sands, my lady!”

“Open that parcel!”

William obeyed, and disclosed the rolls and butter and peeled shrimps just as Bobby had left them.

“You were going to take ’em down to Bobby on the beach!”

“No, indeed, my lady!”

“Confound you, Sir, don’t you lie to me!” exclaimed the Baroness, shaking her stick in his face, “I’ve ways and means of finding out things that you know nothing of! Throw that stuff into the road!”

“But, my lady——”

“Throw it into the road at once, or you may take your month’s warning! ’Ang it all! are you the mistress, or am I?”

The servant threw a glance of enquiry in the direction of the Herr Baron but the Herr Baron kept his face well down in his plate, so after a pause, he walked to the side, and shook the contents of the napkin upon the Digue.

“And now don’t you try any more of your tricks upon me or I’ll thrash you till your own mother won’t know you! You leave Bobby alone for the future, or[Pg 44] it’ll be the worst day’s work you ever did! Remember that!”

“Very good, my lady!” replied William, but as he left the balcony he gave a look at the other occupants, which well conveyed his feelings on the subject.

“I should not be surprised to hear that that woman had been murdered by her servants some day!” said Margaret to Elinor Leyton.

“No! and I should not be sorry! I feel rather like murdering her myself. But let us go down to the sands, Margaret, and try to find the disconsolate Bobby! I’m not afraid of his mother if William is, and if he wants something to eat, I shall give it him!”

They fetched their hats and parasols, and having left the Hotel by a side entrance, found their way down to the sands. It was a pretty sight there, and in some cases, a comical one. The bathing-machines were placed some sixty or more feet from the water, according to the tide, and their occupants, clad in bathing-costumes, had to run the gauntlet of all the eyes upon the beach, as they traversed that distance in order to reach the sea. To some visitors, especially the English ones, this ordeal was rather trying. To watch them open a crevice of the machine door, and regard the expectant crowd with horror;—then after some hesitation, goaded on by the cries of the bathing women that the time was passing, to see them emerge with reluctant feet, sadly conscious of their unclothed condition, and of the unsightly corns and bunions which disfigured their feet—to say nothing of the red and blue tint which their skin had suddenly assumed—was to find it almost impossible to refrain from laughter. The very skinny and knuckle-kneed[Pg 45] ones; the very fat and bulging ones; the little fair men who looked like Bobby’s peeled shrimps, and the muscular black and hairy ones who looked like bears escaped from a menagerie,—these types and many others, our ladies could not help being amused at, though they told each other it was very improper all the time. But everybody had to pass through the same ordeal and everybody submitted to it, and tried to laugh off their own humiliation by ridiculing the appearance of their neighbours. Margaret and Elinor were never tired of watching the antics of the Belgians and Germans whilst they were (what they called) bathing. The fuss they made over entering two feet of water—the way in which they gasped and puffed as they caught it up in their hands and rubbed their backs and chests with it—the reluctance with which the ladies were dragged by their masculine partners into the briny, as if they expected to be overwhelmed and drowned by the tiny waves which rippled over their toes, and made them catch their breath. And lastly, when they were convinced there was no danger, to see them, men and women, fat and thin, take hands and dance round in a ring as if they were playing at “Mulberry Bush” was too delightful. But if one bather, generally an Englishman, more daring than his fellows, went in for a good swim, the coast-guardsmen ran along the breakwater, shouting “Gare, gare!” until he came out again.

“They are funnier than ever to-day,” remarked Margaret, after a while, “I wonder what they will say when they see Ralph swimming out next week. They will be frightened to death. All the Pullens are wonderful swimmers. I have seen Anthony Pennell perform feats[Pg 46] in the water that made my blood run cold! And Ralph is famous for his diving!”

The topic did not appear to interest Elinor. She reverted to the subject of Anthony.

“Is that the literary man—the cousin?”

“Yes! Have you not met him?”

“Never!”

“I am sure you would like him! He is such a fine fellow! Not such a ‘beauty man’ as Ralph, perhaps, but quite as tall and stalwart! His last book was a tremendous success!”

“Ralph has never mentioned him to me, though I knew he had a cousin of that name!”

“Well!—if you won’t be offended at my saying so—Ralph has always been a little jealous of Anthony, at least so Arthur says. He outstripped him at school and college, and the feeling had its foundation there. And anyone might be jealous of him now! He has shewn himself to be a genius!”

“I don’t like geniuses as a rule,” replied Elinor, “they are so conceited. I believe that is Bobby Bates sitting out there on the breakwater! I will go and see if he is still hungry!”

“Give the poor boy a couple of francs to get himself a breakfast in one of the restaurants,” said Margaret, “he will enjoy having a little secret from his terrible Mamma!”

She had not been alone long before the nurse came up to her, with the perambulator, piled up with toys, but no baby. Margaret’s fears were excited at once.

“Nurse! nurse, what is the matter? Where is the baby?” she exclaimed in tones of alarm.

[Pg 47]

“Nothing’s the matter, Ma’am! pray don’t frighten yourself!” replied the servant, “it’s only that the young ladies have got baby, and they’ve bought her all these toys, and sent me on to tell you that they would be here directly!”

The perambulator was filled with expensive playthings useless for an infant of six months’ old. Dolls, woolly sheep, fur cats, and gaily coloured balls with a huge box of chocolates and caramels, were piled one on the top of the other. But Mrs. Pullen’s face expressed nothing but annoyance.

“You had no right to let them take her, Nurse—you had no right to let the child out of your sight! Go back at once and bring her here to me! I am exceedingly annoyed about it!”

“Here are the young ladies, Ma’am, and you had better lay your orders on them, yourself, for they wouldn’t mind me,” said the nurse, somewhat sullenly.

In another minute Harriet Brandt, and Olga Brimont had reached her side, the former panting under the weight of the heavy infant, but with her face scarlet with the excitement of having captured her.

“O! Miss Brandt!” cried Margaret, “you have given me such a fright! You must never take baby away from her nurse again, please! As I told you last night, she is afraid of strangers, and generally cries when they try to take her! Come to me, my little one!” she continued, holding out her arms to the child, “come to mother and tell her all about it!”

But the baby seemed to take no notice of the fond appeal. It had its big eyes fixed upon Miss Brandt’s face with a half-awed, half-interested expression.

[Pg 48]

“O! no! don’t take her away!” said Harriet, eagerly, “she is so good with me! I assure you she is not frightened in the least bit, are you, my little love?” she added, addressing the infant. “And nurse tells me her name is Ethel, so I have ordered them to make her a little gold bangle with ‘Ethel’ on it, and she must wear it for my sake, darling little creature!”

“But, Miss Brandt, you must not buy such expensive things for her, indeed. She is too young to appreciate them, besides I do not like you to spend so much money on her!”

“But why shouldn’t I? What am I to do with my money, if I may not spend it on others?”

“But, such a quantity of toys! Surely, you have not bought all these for my baby!”

“Of course I have! I would have bought the whole shop if it would have pleased her! She likes the colours! Little darling! look how earnestly she gazes at me with her lovely grey eyes, as if she knew what a little beauty I think her! O! you pretty dear! you sweet pink and white baby!”

Mrs. Pullen felt somewhat annoyed as she saw the dolls and furry animals which were strewn upon the sands, at the same time she was flattered by the admiration exhibited of her little daughter, and the endearments lavished upon her. She considered them all well deserved (as what mother would not?)—and it struck her that Harriet Brandt must be a kindhearted, as well as a generous girl to spend so much money on a stranger’s child.

“She certainly does seem wonderfully good with you,” she observed presently, “I never knew her so quiet[Pg 49] with anybody but her nurse or me, before. Isn’t it marvellous, Nurse?”

“It is, Ma’am! Baby do seem to take surprisingly to the young lady! And perhaps I might go into the town, as she is so quiet, and get the darning-wool for your stockings!”

“O! no! no! We must not let Miss Brandt get tired of holding her. She is too heavy to be nursed for long!”

“Indeed, indeed she is not!” cried Harriet, “do let me keep her, Mrs. Pullen, whilst nurse goes on her errand. It is the greatest pleasure to me to hold her. I should like never to give her up again!”

Margaret smiled.

“Very well, Nurse, since Miss Brandt is so kind, you can go!”

As the servant disappeared, she said to Harriet,

“Mind! you give her to me directly she makes your arm ache! I am more used to the little torment than you are.”

“How can you call her by such a name, even in fun? What would I not give to have a baby of my very own to do what I liked with? I would never part with it, night nor day, I would teach it to love me so much, that it should never be happy out of my sight!”

“But that would be cruel, my dear! Your baby might have to part with you, as you have had to part with your mother!”

At the mention of her mother, something came into Miss Brandt’s eyes, which Margaret could not define. It was not anger, nor sorrow, nor remorse. It was a kind of sullen contempt. It was something that made Mrs. Pullen resolve not to allude to the subject again.[Pg 50] The incident made her examine Harriet’s eyes more closely than she had done before. They were beautiful in shape and colour, but they did not look like the eyes of a young girl. They were deeply, impenetrably black—with large pellucid pupils, but there was no sparkle nor brightness in them, though they were underlaid by smouldering fires which might burst forth into flame at any moment, and which seemed to stir and kindle and then go out again, when she spoke of anything that interested her. There was an attraction about the girl, which Mrs. Pullen acknowledged, without wishing to give in to. She could not keep her eyes off her! She seemed to hypnotise her as the snake is said to hypnotise the bird, but it was an unpleasant feeling, as if the next moment the smouldering fire would burst forth into flame and overwhelm her. But watching her play with, and hearing her talk to, her baby, Margaret put the idea away from her, and only thought how kindly natured she must be, to take so much trouble for another woman’s child. It was not long before Miss Leyton found her way back to them, and as her glance fell upon Harriet Brandt and the baby, she elevated her eyebrows.

“Where is the nurse?” she demanded curtly.

“She has gone to the shops to see if she can get some darning-wool, and Miss Brandt was kind enough to offer to keep baby for her till she returns. And O! Elinor, look what beautiful toys Miss Brandt has bought her! Isn’t she too kind?”

“Altogether too kind!” responded Elinor. “By the way, Margaret, I found our friend and transacted the little business we spoke of! But he says his Mamma[Pg 51] has ordered him to remain here, till she comes down to see him bathe, and dry him, I suppose, with her own hands! And do I not descry her fairy feet indenting the sands at this very moment, and bearing down in our direction?”

“You could hardly mistake her for anything else!” replied Mrs. Pullen.

In another minute the Baroness was upon them.

“Hullo,” she called out, “you’re just in time to see Gustave bathe! He looks lovely in his bathing costume! His legs are as white as your baby’s, Mrs. Pullen, and twice as well worth looking at!”

“Mein tear! mein tear!” remonstrated the Baron.

“Don’t be a fool, Gustave! You know it’s the truth! And the loveliest feet, Miss Leyton! Smaller than yours, I bet. Where’s that devil, Bobby? I’m going to give ’im a dousing for his villainy this morning, I can tell you! Once I get ’is ’ead under water, it won’t come up again in a hurry! I expect ’e’s pretty ’ungry by this time! But ’e don’t get a centime out of me for cakes to-day. I’ll teach ’im not to stuff ’imself like a pig again. Come, Gustave! ’ere’s a machine for you! Get me a chair that I may sit outside it! Now, we’ll ’ave some fun,” she added, with a wink at Mrs. Pullen.

“Let us move on to the breakwater!” said Margaret to Elinor Leyton, and the whole party got up and walked some little distance off.

“Ah! you don’t hoodwink me!” screamed the Baroness after them. “You’ve got glasses with you, and you’re going to ’ave a good squint at Gustave’s legs through ’em, I know! You’d better ’ave stayed ’ere, like honest women, and said you enjoyed the sight!”

[Pg 52]

“O! Margaret!” said Miss Leyton, with a look of horror, “if it had not been for the Bataille de Fleurs and ... the other thing ... I should have said, for goodness’ sake, let us move on to Ostende or Blankenburghe, with the least possible delay. That woman will be the death of me yet! I’m sure she will!”

Notwithstanding which, they could not help laughing in concert, a little later on, to see the unwilling Bobby dragged down by William to bathe, and as he emerged from his machine, helpless and half naked, to watch his elephantine mother chase him with her stout stick in hand, and failing to catch him in time, slip on the wet sand and flounder in the waves herself, from which plight, it looked very much as though her servant instead of rescuing her, did his best to push her further in, before he dragged her, drenched and disordered, on dry land again.

Chapter 4

The Baroness Gobelli’s temperament was as inconsistent as her dress. Under the garb of jocose good-humour, which often degenerated to horse-play, she concealed a jealous and vindictive disposition, which would go any lengths, when offended, to revenge itself. She was wont to say that she never forgot, nor forgave an injury, and that when she had her knife (as she termed it) in a man, she knew how to bide her time, but that when the time came, she turned it. These bloodthirsty sentiments, coupled with an asseveration which was constantly on her lips, that when she willed the death of anyone, he died, and that she had powers at her command[Pg 53] of which no one was aware but herself, frightened many timid and ignorant people into trying to propitiate so apparently potent a mortal, and generally kow-towing before her. To such votaries, so long as they pleased her, Madame Gobelli was used to shew her favour by various gifts of dresses, jewelry, or money, according to their circumstances, for in some cases she was lavishly generous, but she soon tired of her acquaintances and replaced them by fresh favourites.

The hints that she gave forth, regarding herself and her antecedents, were too extraordinary to gain credence except from the most ignorant of her auditors, but the Baroness always spoke in parables, and left no proof of what she meant, to be brought up against her. This proved that if she were clever, she was still more cunning. The hints she occasionally gave of being descended from Royal blood, though on the wrong side of the blanket, and of the connection being acknowledged privately, if not publicly, by the existing members of the reigning family, were received with open mouths by people of her own class, but rejected with scorn by such as were acquainted with those whom she affected to know. It was remarkable also, and only another proof that, whatever her real birth and antecedents, the Baroness Gobelli was unique, that, notwithstanding her desire to be considered noble by birth if not by law, she never shirked the fact that the Baron was in trade—on the contrary she rather made a boast of it, and used to relate stories bringing it into ridicule with the greatest gusto. The fact being that Baron Gobelli was the head of a large firm of export bootmakers, trading in London under the name of Fantaisie et Cie, the[Pg 54] boots and shoes of which, though professedly French, were all manufactured in Germany, where the firm maintained an enormous factory. The Baroness could seldom be in the company of anyone for more than five minutes without asking them where they bought their boots and shoes, and recommending them to Fantaisie et Cie as the best makers in London. She wanted to be first in everything—in popularity, in notice, and in conversation—if she could not attract attention by her personality, she startled people by her vulgarity—if she could not reign supreme by reason of her supposed birth, she would do so by boots and shoes, if nothing else—and if anybody slighted her or appeared to discredit her statements, he or she was immediately marked down for retaliation.

Harriet Brandt had not been many days in Heyst before the Baroness had become jealous of the attention which she paid Mrs. Pullen and her child. She saw that the girl was attractive, she heard that she was rich, and she liked to have pretty and pleasant young people about her when at home—they drew men to the house and reflected a sort of credit upon herself—and she determined to get Harriet away from Margaret Pullen and chain her to her own side instead. The Baroness hated Miss Leyton quite as much as Elinor hated her. She was quick of hearing and very intuitive—she had caught more than one of the young lady’s uncomplimentary remarks upon herself, and had divined still more than she had heard. She had observed her sympathy with Bobby also, and that she encouraged him in his boyish rebellion. For all these reasons, she “had her knife” into Miss Leyton, and was waiting her opportunity[Pg 55] to turn it. And she foresaw—with the assistance perhaps of the Powers of Darkness, of whose acquaintance she was so proud—that she would be enabled to take her revenge on Elinor Leyton through Harriet Brandt.

But her first advances to the latter were suavity itself. She was not going to frighten the girl by shewing her claws, until she had stroked her down the right way with her pattes de velours.

She came upon her one morning, as she sat upon the sands, with little Ethel in her arms. The nurse was within speaking distance, busy with her needlework, and the infant seemed so quiet with Miss Brandt and she took such evident pleasure in nursing it, that Mrs. Pullen no longer minded leaving them together, and had gone for a stroll with Miss Leyton along the Digue. So the Baroness found Harriet, comparatively speaking, alone.

“So you’re playing at nursemaid again!” she commenced in her abrupt manner. “You seem to have taken a wonderful fancy to that child!”

“She is such a good little creature,” replied Harriet, “she is no trouble whatever. She sleeps half the day!”

Miss Brandt had a large box of chocolates beside her, into which she continually dipped her hand. Her mouth, too, was stained with the delicate sweetmeat—she was always eating, either fruit or bonbons. She handed the box now, with a timid air, to the Baroness.

“Do you care for chocolate, Madame?” she asked.

The Baroness did not like to be called “Madame” according to the French fashion. She thought it derogated from her dignity. She wished everyone to address her as “my lady,” and considered she was[Pg 56] cheated out of her rights when it was omitted. But she liked chocolate almost as well as Harriet did.

“Thank you! I’ll ’ave a few!” she said, grabbing about a dozen in her huge hand at the first venture. “What a liking for candies the Amurricans seem to ’ave introduced into England! I can remember the time when you never saw such a thing as sweets in the palace—I don’t think they were allowed—and now they’re all over the place. I shouldn’t wonder if Her Majesty hasn’t a box or two in her private apartments, and as for the Princesses, well!—”

“The Palace!—Her Majesty!”—echoed Miss Brandt, opening her dark eyes very wide.

“As I tell ’em,” continued the Baroness, “they won’t ’ave a tooth left amongst the lot of ’em soon! What are you staring at?”

“But—but—do you go to the Queen’s palace?” demanded Harriet, incredulously, as well she might.

“Not unless I’m sent for, you may take your oath! I ain’t fond enough of ’em for all that; besides, Windsor’s ’orribly damp and don’t suit me at all. But you mustn’t go and repeat what I tell you, in the Hotel. It might give offence in high places if I was known to talk of it. You see there’s some of ’em has never seen me since I married the Baron! Being in trade, they thought ’e wasn’t good enough for me! I’ve ’eard that when Lady Morton—the dowager Countess, you know—was asked if she ’ad seen me lately, she called out loud enough for the whole room to ’ear, ‘Do you mean the woman that married the boot man? No! I ’aven’t seen ’er, and I don’t mean to either!’ Ha! ha! ha! But I can afford to laugh at all that, my dear!”

[Pg 57]

“But—I don’t quite understand!” said Harriet Brandt, with a bewildered look.

“Why! the Baron deals in shoe-leather! ’Aven’t you ’eard it? I suppose we’ve got the largest manufactory in Germany! Covers four acres of ground, I give you my word!”

“Shoe-leather!” again ejaculated Harriet Brandt, not knowing what to say.

“Why, yes! of course all the aristocracy go in for trade now-a-days! It’s the fashion! There’s the Viscountess Gormsby keeps a bonnet-shop, and Lord Charles Snowe ’as a bakery, and Lady Harrison ’as an old curiosity-shop, and stands about it, dusting tables and chairs, all day! But how can you know anything about it, just coming from the West Indies, and all those ’orrid blacks! Ain’t you glad to find yourself amongst Christians again?”

“This is the first time I ever left Jamaica,” said Miss Brandt, “I was born there.”

“But you won’t die there, or I’m much mistaken! You’re too good to be wasted on Jamaica! When are you going back to England?”

“Oh! I don’t know! I’ve hardly thought about it yet! Not while Mrs. Pullen stays here, though!”

“Why! you’re not tied to ’er apron-string, surely! What’s she to you?”

“She is very kind, and I have no friends!” replied Miss Brandt.

The Baroness burst into a coarse laugh.

“You won’t want for friends, once you shew your face in England, I can tell you. I’d like to ’ave you at our ’ouse, the Red ’Ouse, we call it. Princess—but there, I mustn’t tell you ’er name or it’ll go through the[Pg 58] Hotel, and she says things to me that she never means to go further—but she said the other day that she preferred the Red ’Ouse to Windsor! And for comfort, and cheerfulness, so she may!”

“I suppose it is very beautiful then!” observed Harriet.

“You must judge for yourself,” replied the Baroness, with a broad smile, “when you come to London. You’ll be your own mistress there, I suppose, and not so tied as you are here! I call it a shame to keep you dancing attendance on that brat, when there’s a nurse whose business it is to look after ’er!”

“O! but indeed it is my own wish!” said the girl, as she cuddled the sleeping baby to her bosom, and laid her lips in a long kiss upon its little mouth. “I asked leave to nurse her! She loves me and even Nurse cannot get her off to sleep as I can! And it is so beautiful to have something to love you, Madame Gobelli! In the Convent I felt so cold—so lonely! If ever I took a liking to a girl, we were placed in separate rooms! It is what I have longed for—to come out into the world and find someone to be a friend, and to love me, only me, and all for myself!”

Madame Gobelli laughed again.

“Well! you’ve only got to shew those eyes of yours, to get plenty of people to love you, and let you love them in return—that is, if the men count in your estimation of what’s beautiful!”

Harriet raised her eyes and looked at the woman who addressed her!

There was the innocence of Ignorance in them as yet, but the slumbering fire in their depths proved of what her nature would be capable, when it was given[Pg 59] the opportunity to shew itself. Hers was a passionate temperament, yearning to express itself—panting for the love which it had never known—and ready to burst forth like a tree into blossom, directly the sun of Desire and Reciprocity shone upon it. The elder woman, who had not been without her little experiences in her day, recognised the feeling at once, and thought that she would not give a fig for the virtue of any man who was subjected to its influence.

“I don’t think that you’ll confine your attentions to babies long!” quoth the Baroness, as she encountered that glance.

“How do you know?” said her young companion.

“Ah! it’s enough that I do know, my dear! I ’ave ways and means of knowing things that I keep to myself! I ’ave friends about me too, who can tell me everything—who can ’elp me, if I choose, to give Life and Fortune to one person, and Trouble and Death to another—and woe to them that offend me, that’s all!”

But if the Baroness expected to impress Miss Brandt with her hints of terror, she was mistaken. Harriet did not seem in the least astonished. She had been brought up by old Pete and the servants on her father’s plantation to believe in witches, and the evil eye, and “Obeah” and the whole cult of Devil worship.

“I know all about that,” she remarked presently, “but you can’t do me either good or harm. I want nothing from you and I never shall!”

“Don’t you be too sure of that!” replied Madame Gobelli, nodding her head. “I’ve brought young women more luck than enough with their lovers before now—yes! and married women into the bargain! If it ’adn’t[Pg 60] been for me, Lady—there! it nearly slipped out, didn’t it?—but there’s a certain Countess who would never ’ave been a widow and married for the second time to the man of ’er ’eart, if I ’adn’t ’elped ’er, and she knows it too! By the way, ’ow do you like Miss Leyton?”

“Not at all,” replied Harriet, quickly, “she is not a bit like Mrs. Pullen—so cold and stiff and disagreeable! She hardly ever speaks to me! Is it true that she’s the daughter of a lord, as Madame Lamont says, and is it that makes her so proud?”

“She’s the daughter of Lord Walthamstowe, but that’s nothing. They’ve got no money. ’Er people live down in the country, quite in a beggarly manner. A gal with a fortune of ’er own, would rank ’eads and ’eads above ’er in Society. There’s not much thought of beside money, nowadays, I can tell you!”

“Why does she stay with Mrs. Pullen then? Are they any relation to each other?” demanded Harriet.

“Relation, no! I expect she’s just brought ’er ’ere out of charity, and because she couldn’t afford to go to the seaside by ’erself!”

She had been about to announce the projected relationship between the two ladies, when a sudden thought struck her. Captain Ralph Pullen was expected to arrive in Heyst in a few days—thus much she had ascertained through the landlady of the Lion d’Or. She knew by repute that he was considered to be one of the handsomest and most conceited men in the Limerick Rangers, a corps which was noted for its good-looking officers. It might be better for the furtherance of her plans against the peace of Miss Leyton’s mind, she thought, to keep her engagement to Captain Pullen a secret—at all events,[Pg 61] no one could say it was her business to make it public. She looked in Harriet Brandt’s yearning, passionate eyes, and decided that it would be strange if any impressionable young man could be thrown within their influence, without having his fidelity a little shaken, especially if affianced to such a cold, uninteresting “bit of goods” as Elinor Leyton. Like the parrot in the story, though she said nothing, she “thought a deal” and inwardly rumbled with half-suppressed laughter, as she pictured the discomfiture of the latter young lady, if by any chance she should find her fiancé’s attentions transferred from herself to the little West Indian.

“You seem amused, Madame!” said Harriet presently.

“I was thinking of you, and all the young men who are doomed to be slaughtered by those eyes of yours,” said the Baroness. “You’d make mischief enough amongst my friends, I bet, if I ’ad you at the Red ’Ouse!”

Harriet felt flattered and consciously pleased. She had never received a compliment in the Convent—no one had ever hinted that she was pretty, and she had had no opportunity of hearing it since.

“Do you think I am handsome then?” she enquired with a heightened colour.

“I think you’re a deal worse! I think you’re dangerous!” replied her new friend, “and I wouldn’t trust you with the Baron any further than I could see you!”

“O! how can you say so?” exclaimed the girl, though she was pleased all the same to hear it said.

“I wouldn’t, and that’s the truth! Gustave’s an awful fellow after the gals. I ’ave to keep a tight ’old[Pg 62] on ’im, I can tell you, and the more you keep out of ’is way, the better I shall be pleased! You’ll make a grand match some day, if you’re only sharp and keep your eyes open.”

“What do you call a grand match?” asked Harriet, as she let the nurse take the sleeping child from her arms without remonstrance.

“Why! a Lord or an Honourable at the very least! since you ’ave money of your own. It’s money they’re all after in these times, you know—why! we ’ave dooks and markisses marrying all sorts of gals from Amurrica—gals whose fathers made their money in oil, or medicine, or electricity, or any other dodge, so long as they made it! And why shouldn’t you do the same as the Amurrican gals? You have money, I know—and a goodish lot, I fancy—” added the Baroness, with her cunning eyes fixed upon the girl as if to read her thoughts.

“O! yes!” replied Harriet, “Mr. Trawler, my trustee, said it was too much for a young woman to have under her own control, but I don’t know anything about the value of money, never having had it to spend before. I am to have fifteen hundred pounds every year. Is that a good deal?”

“Quite enough to settle you in life, my dear!” exclaimed the Baroness, who immediately thought what a good thing it would be if Miss Brandt could be persuaded to sink her capital in the boot trade, “and all under your own control too! You are a lucky young woman! I know ’alf-a-dozen lords,—not to say Princes—who would jump at you!”

“Princes!” cried Harriet, unable to believe her ears.

[Pg 63]

“Certainly! Not English ones of course, but German, which are quite as good after all, for a Prince is a Prince any day! There’s Prince Adalbert of Waxsquiemer, and Prince Harold of Muddlesheim, and Prince Loris of Taxelmein, and ever so many more, and they’re in and out of the Red ’Ouse, twenty times a day! But don’t you be in an ’urry! Don’t take the first that offers, Miss Brandt! Pick and choose! Flirt with whom you like and ’ave your fun, but wait and look about you a bit before you decide!”

The prospect was too dazzling! Harriet Brandt’s magnificent eyes were opened to their widest extent—her cheeks flushed with expectation—both life and light had flashed into her countenance. Her soul was expanding, her nature was awakening—it shone through every feature—the Baroness had had no idea she was so beautiful! And the hungry, yearning look was more accentuated than before—it seemed as if she were on the alert, watching for something, like a panther awaiting the advent of its prey. It was a look that women would have shrunk from, and men welcomed and eagerly responded to.

“I should like to go and see you when I go to England—very much!” she articulated slowly.

“And so you shall, my dear! The Baron and me will be very glad to ’ave you on a visit. And you mustn’t let that capital of yours lie idle, you know! If it’s in your own ’ands, you must make it yield double to what it does now! You consult Gustave! ’E’s a regular business man and knows ’ow many beans make five! ’E’ll tell you what’s best to be done with it—’e’ll be a[Pg 64] good friend to you, and you can trust ’im with everything!”

“Thank you!” replied the girl, but she still seemed to be lost in a kind of reverie. Her gaze was fixed—her full crimson lips were slightly parted—her slender hands kept nervously clasping and unclasping each other.

“Well, you are ’andsome and no mistake!” exclaimed the Baroness. “You remind me a little of the Duchess of Bewlay before she was married! The first wife, I mean—the second is a poor, pale-faced, sandy-’aired creature. (’Ow the Dook can stomach ’er after the other, I can’t make out!) The first Duchess’s mother was a great flame of my grandfather, the Dook of—however, I mustn’t tell you that! It’s a State secret, and I might get into trouble at Court! You’d better not say I mentioned it.”

But Harriet Brandt was not in a condition to remember or repeat anything. She was lost in a dream of the possibilities of the Future.

The bell for déjeuner roused them at last, and brought them to their feet. They resembled each other in one particular ... they were equally fond of the pleasures of the table.

The little Baron appeared dutifully to afford his clumsy spouse the benefit of his support in climbing the hillocks of shifting sand, which lay between them and the hotel, and Miss Brandt sped swiftly on her way alone.

“I’ve been ’aving a talk with that gal Brandt,” chuckled the Baroness to her husband, “she’s a regular green-’orn and swallows everything you tell ’er. I’ve been stuffing ’er up, that she ought to marry a Prince,[Pg 65] with ’er looks and money, and she quite believes it. But she ain’t bad-looking when she colours up, and I expect she’s rather a warm customer, and if she takes a fancy to a man, ’e won’t well know ’ow to get out of it! And if he tries to, she’ll make the fur fly. Ha! ha! ha!”

“Better leave it alone, better leave it alone!” said the stolid German, who had had more than one battle to fight already, on account of his wife’s match-making propensities, and considered her quite too clumsy an artificer to engage in so delicate a game.

Chapter 5

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[Pg 66] 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.

[Pg 67]

“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!”

[Pg 68]

“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,[Pg 69] “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[Pg 70] 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.

[Pg 71]

“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.”

[Pg 72]

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[Pg 73] 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[Pg 74] 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[Pg 75] 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!”

[Pg 76]

“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[Pg 77] 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,[Pg 78] 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[Pg 79] 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[Pg 80] 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[Pg 81] 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[Pg 82] 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,[Pg 83] “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,[Pg 84] “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[Pg 85] 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[Pg 86] 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.

[Pg 87]

“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.