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 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 II. 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 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:

“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 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!