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. CHAPTER VI. The day had heralded in the _Bataille de Fleurs_ and all Heyst was _en
fête_. The little furnished villas, hired for the season, were all
built alike, with a balcony, on the ground floor, which was transformed
into a veritable bower for the occasion. Villa Imperatrice vied with
Villa Mentone and Villa Sebastien, as to which decoration should be the
most beautiful and effective, and the result was a long line of arbours
garlanded with every sort of blossom. From early morning, the occupants
were busy, entwining their pillars with evergreens, interspersed with
flags and knots of ribbon, whilst the balustrades were laden with
growing flowers and the tables inside bore vases of severed blooms. One balcony was decorated with corn, poppies and _bluets_, whilst
the next would display pink roses mixed with the delicate blue of
the sea-nettle, and the third would be all yellow silk and white
marguerites. The procession of _charrettes_, and the _Bataille_ itself
was not to commence till the afternoon, so the visitors crowded the
sands as usual in the morning, leaving the temporary owners of the
various villas, to toil for their gratification, during their absence. Margaret Pullen felt sad as she sat in the hotel balcony, watching
the proceedings on each side of her. She had intended her baby’s
perambulator to take part in the procession of _charrettes_, and had
ordered a quantity of white field-lilies with which to decorate it. It was to be a veritable triumph--so she and Miss Leyton had decided
between themselves--and she had fondly pictured how lovely little Ethel
would look with her fluffy yellow hair, lying amongst the blossoms, but
now baby was too languid and ill to be taken out of doors, and Margaret
had given all the flowers to the little Montagues, who were trimming
their mail-cart with them, in their own fashion. As she sat there, with
a pensive, thoughtful look upon her face, Harriet Brandt, dressed in a
costume of grass-cloth, with a broad-brimmed hat, nodding with poppies
and green leaves, that wonderfully became her, on her head, entered the
balcony with an eager, excited appearance. “O! Mrs. Pullen! have you seen the Baroness?” she exclaimed. “We are
going to bathe this morning. Aren’t you coming down to the sands?”

“No! Miss Brandt, not to-day. I am unhappy about my dear baby! I
am sure you will be sorry to hear that she has been quite ill all
night--so restless and feverish!”

“O! she’ll be all right directly her teeth come through!” replied
Harriet indifferently, as her eyes scanned the scene before them. “There’s the Baroness! She’s beckoning to me! Good-bye!” and without a
word of sympathy or comfort, she rushed away to join her friends. “Like the way of the world!” thought Margaret, as she watched the girl
skimming over the sands, “but somehow--I didn’t think she would be so
heartless!”

Miss Leyton and her _fiancé_ had strolled off after breakfast to take a
walk, and Mrs. Pullen went back to her own room, and sat down quietly
to needlework. She was becoming very anxious for Doctor Phillips’
arrival; had even written to England to ask him to hurry it if
possible--for her infant, though not positively ill, rejected her food
so often that she was palpably thinner and weaker. After she had sat there for some time, she took up her field glasses,
to survey the bathers on the beach. She had often done so before,
when confined to the hotel--it afforded her amusement to watch their
faces and antics. On the present occasion, she had no difficulty in
distinguishing the form of the Baroness Gobelli, looking enormous
as, clad in a most conspicuous bathing costume, she waddled from her
machine into the water, loudly calling attention to her appearance,
from all assembled on the sands, as she went. The Baron, looking little
less comical, advanced to conduct his spouse down to the water, whilst
after them flew a slight boyish figure in yellow, with a mane of dark
hair hanging down her back, which Margaret immediately recognised as
that of Harriet Brandt. She was dancing about in the shallow water, shrieking whenever she made
a false step, and clinging hold of the Baron’s hand, when Margaret
saw another gentleman come up to them, and join in the ring. She
turned the glasses upon him and saw to her amazement that it was
her brother-in-law. Her first feeling was that of annoyance. There
was nothing extraordinary or improper, in his joining the Baroness’s
party--men and women bathed promiscuously in Heyst, and no one thought
anything of it. But that Ralph should voluntarily mix himself up with
the Gobellis, after Elinor’s particular request that he should keep
aloof from them, was a much more serious matter. And by the way,
that reminded her, where was Elinor the while? Margaret could not
discern her anywhere upon the sands, and wondered if she had also been
persuaded to bathe. She watched Captain Pullen, evidently trying to
induce Miss Brandt to venture further into the water, holding out both
hands for her protection,--she also saw her yield to his persuasion,
and leaving go of her hold on the Herr Baron, trust herself entirely to
the stranger’s care. Mrs. Pullen turned from the window with a sigh. She hoped there were not going to be any “ructions” between Ralph and
Elinor--but she would not have liked her to see him at that moment. She bestowed a silent benediction, “not loud but deep” on the foreign
fashion of promiscuous bathing, and walked across the corridor to
her friend’s room, to see if she had returned to the Hotel. To her
surprise, she found Miss Leyton dismantled of her walking attire,
soberly seated at her table, writing letters. “Why! Elinor,” she said, “I thought you were out with Ralph!”

The young lady was quite composed. “So I was,” she answered, “until half an hour ago! But as he then
expressed his determination to bathe, I left him to his own devices
and came back to write my letters.”

“Would he not have preferred your waiting on the sands till he could
join you again?”

“I did not ask him! I should think he would hardly care for me to watch
him whilst bathing, and I am sure I should not consent to do so!”

“But everybody does it here, Elinor, and if you did not care to go down
to the beach, you might have waited for him on the Digue.”

“My dear Margaret, I am not in the habit of dancing attendance upon
men. It is their business to come after me! If Ralph is eager for
another walk after his dip, he can easily call for me here!”

“True! and he can as easily go for his walk with any stray acquaintance
he may pick up on the sands!”

“O! if he should prefer it, he is welcome to do so,” replied Elinor,
resuming her scribbling.