You cannot tell--you will never know--but you seem like part of my
life!”

“Silly boy!” replied Harriet, reproachfully, as she gave him another
kiss. “There, run away at once, and don’t tell your mother what we’ve
been about, or she will never let me speak to you again.”

Bobby’s eyes answered for him, that he would be torn to pieces before
he let their precious secret out of his grasp, as he took his unwilling
way down to the _table d’hôte_. “Well! you _’ave_ made a little fool of yourself, and no mistake,”
was the Baroness’s greeting, as Harriet joined her in the balcony an
hour later, “and a nice lot of lies I’ve ’ad to tell about you to Mrs.
Montague and the rest. But luckily, they’re all so full of the poor
child’s death, and the coffin of white cloth studded with silver nails
that was brought from Bruges to carry the body to England in, that
they ’ad no time to spare for your tantrums. Lor! that poor young man
must ’ave ’ad enough to do, I can tell you, from all accounts, without
writing to you! Everything was on ’is ’ands, for Mrs. Pullen wouldn’t
let the doctor out of ’er sight! ’E ’ad to fly off to Bruges to get the
coffin and to wire half over the world, besides ’aving the two women
to tow about, so you mustn’t be ’ard on ’im. ’E’ll write soon, and
explain everything, you may make sure of that, and if ’e don’t, why, we
shall be after ’im before long! Aldershot, where the Limerick Rangers
are quartered, is within a stone’s throw of London, and Lord Menzies
and Mr. Nalgett often run over to the Red ’Ouse, and so can Captain
Pullen, if he chooses! So you just make yourself ’appy, and it will be
all right before long.”

“O! I’m all right!” cried Harriet, gaily, “I was only a little startled
at the news, so would anyone have been. Come along, Bobby! Let us walk
over the dunes to the next town. This cool air will do my head good. Good-bye, Baroness! You needn’t expect us till you see us! Bobby and I
are going for a good long walk!”

And tucking the lad’s arm under her own, she walked off at a tremendous
pace, and the pair were soon lost to view. “I wish that Bobby was a few years older,” remarked the Baroness
thoughtfully to her husband, as they were left alone, “she wouldn’t
’ave made a bad match for him, for she ’as a tidy little fortune, and
it’s all in Consols. But perhaps it’s just as well there’s no chance
of it! She ain’t got much ’eart--I couldn’t ’ave believed that she’d
receive the news of that poor baby’s death, without a tear or so much
as a word of regret, when at one time she ’ad it always in ’er arms. She quite forgot all about it, thinking of the man. Drat the men! They’re more trouble than they’re worth, but ’e’s pretty sure to come
after ’er as soon as ’e ’ears she’s at the Red ’Ouse!”

“But to what good, mein tear,” demanded the Baron, “when you know he is
betrothed to Miss Leyton?”

“Yes! and ’e’ll marry Miss Leyton, too. ’E’s not the sort of man to
let the main chance go! And ’Arriet will console ’erself with a better
beau. I can read all that without your telling me, Gustave. But Miss
Leyton won’t get off without a scratch or two, all the same, and that’s
what I’m aiming at. I’ll teach ’er not to call me a female elephant! I’ve got my knife into that young woman, and I mean to turn it! Confound ’er impudence! What next?”

And having delivered herself of her feelings, the Baroness rose and
proceeded to take her evening promenade along the Digue. CHAPTER X. The Red House at Holloway was, like its owner, a contradiction and
an anomaly. It had lain for many years in Chancery, neglected and
uncared-for, and the Baroness had purchased it for a song. She was
very fond of driving bargains, and sometimes she was horribly taken
in. She had been known to buy a house for two thousand pounds for a
mere caprice, and exchange it, six months afterwards, for a dinner
service. But as a rule she was too shrewd to be cheated, for her income
was not a tenth part of what she represented. When she had concluded
her bargain for the Red House, which she did after a single survey
of the premises, and entered on possession, she found it would take
double the sum she had paid to put it into proper repair. It was a
very old house of the Georgian era standing in its own grounds of
about a couple of acres, and containing thirty rooms, full of dust,
damp, rats, and decay. The Baroness, however, having sent for a couple
of workmen from the firm, to put the tangled wilderness which called
itself a garden, into something like order, sent in all her household
gods, and settled down there, with William and two rough maid servants,
as lady of the Manor. The inside of the Red House presented an
incongruous appearance. This extraordinary woman, who could not sound
her aspirates and could hardly write her own name, had a wonderful
taste for old china and pictures, and knew a good thing from a bad
one. Her drawing-room was heaped with valuables, many of them piled on
rickety tables which threatened every minute to overturn them upon the
ground. The entrance hall was dingy, bare, and ill-lighted, and the
breakfast-room to the side was furnished with the merest necessities. Yet the dressing-table in the Baroness’s sleeping apartment was draped
in ruby velvet, and trimmed with a flounce of the most costly Brussels
lace, which a Princess might not have been ashamed to wear. The bed was
covered with a _duvet_ of the thickest satin, richly embroidered by
her own hand, whilst the washing-stand held a set of the commonest and
cheapest crockery. Everything about the house was on the same scale;
it looked as though it belonged to people who had fallen from the
utmost affluence to the depths of poverty. Harriet Brandt was terribly
disappointed when she entered it, Bobby’s accounts of the magnificence
of his home having led her to expect nothing short of a palace. The Baroness had insisted on her accompanying them to England. She
had taken one of her violent fancies to the girl, and nothing would
satisfy her but that Harriet should go back with her husband and
herself to the Red House, and stay there as long as she chose. “Now look ’ere,” she said in her rough way, “you must make the Red
’Ouse your ’ome. Liberty ’All, as I call it! Get up and go to bed; go
out and come in, just when you see fit--do what you like, see what you
like, and invite your friends, as if the ’ouse was your own. The Baron
and I are often ’alf the day at the boot shop, but that need make no
difference to you. I daresay you’ll find some way to amuse yourself. You’re the daughter of the ’ouse, remember, and free to do as you
choose!”

Harriet gladly accepted the offer. She had no friends of her own to
go to, and the prospect of living by herself, in an unknown city, was
rather lonely.