I will wait at all events until
to-morrow.”

“Where has baby been this morning?”

“She was with Miss Brandt on the sands, Miss!” replied the nurse. “Since you are so anxious about Ethel, Margaret, I really wonder that
you should trust her with a stranger like Miss Brandt! Perhaps she let
the sun beat on her head.”

“O! no, Elinor, Nurse was with them all the time. I would not let Miss
Brandt or anyone take baby away alone. But she is so good-natured and
so anxious to have her, that I don’t quite know how to refuse.”

“Perhaps she has been stuffing the child with some of her horrid
chocolates or caramels. She is gorging them all day long herself!”

“I know my duty too well for that, Miss!” said the nurse resentfully,
“I wouldn’t have allowed it! The dear baby did not have anything to eat
at all.”

“Well! you’re both on _her_ side evidently, so I will say no more,”
concluded Miss Leyton, “At the same time if _I_ had a child, I’d
sooner trust it to a wild beast than the tender mercies of Miss Brandt. But it’s past four o’clock, Margaret! If we are to reach the _entrepôt_
in time we must be going!”

Mrs. Pullen hastily assumed her hat and mantle, and prepared to
accompany her friend. They had opened the door, and were about to leave
the room when a flood of melody suddenly poured into the apartment. It
proceeded from a room at the other end of the corridor and was produced
by a mandoline most skilfully played. The silvery notes in rills and
trills and chords, such as might have been evolved from a fairy harp,
arrested the attention of both Miss Leyton and Mrs. Pullen. They had
scarcely expressed their wonder and admiration to each other, at the
skilful manipulation of the instrument (which evinced such art as
they had never heard before except in public) when the strings of the
mandoline were accompanied by a young, fresh contralto voice. “O! hush! hush!” cried Elinor, with her finger on her lip, as the rich
mellow strains floated through the corridor, “I don’t think I ever
heard such a lovely voice before. Whose on earth can it be?”

The words of the song were in Spanish, and the only one they could
recognise was the refrain of, “Seralie! Seralie!” But the melody was
wild, pathetic, and passionate, and the singer’s voice was touching
beyond description. “Some professional must have arrived at the Hotel,” said Margaret, “I
am sure that is not the singing of an amateur. But I hope she will not
practise at night, and keep baby awake!”

Elinor laughed. “O! you mother!” she said, “I thought you were lamenting just now that
your ewe lamb slept too much! For my part, I should like to be lulled
to sleep each night by just such strains as those. Listen, Margaret! She has commenced another song. Ah! Gounod’s delicious ‘Ave Maria.’ How
beautiful!”

“I don’t profess to know much about music,” said Margaret, “but it
strikes me that the charm of that singing lies more in the voice than
the actual delivery. Whoever it is, must be very young!”

“Whoever it proceeds from, it is charming,” repeated Elinor. “How Ralph
would revel in it! Nothing affects him like music. It is the only
thing which makes me regret my inability to play or sing. But I am
most curious to learn who the new arrival is. Ah! here is Mademoiselle
Brimont!” she continued, as she caught sight of Olga Brimont, slowly
mounting the steep staircase, “Mademoiselle, do you happen to know
who it is who owns that lovely voice? Mrs. Pullen and I are perfectly
enchanted with it!”

Olga Brimont coloured a little. She had never got over her shyness of
the English ladies, particularly of the one who spoke so sharply. But
she answered at once,

“It is Harriet Brandt! Didn’t you know that she sang?”

Miss Leyton took a step backward. Her face expressed the intensest
surprise--not to say incredulity. “Harriet Brandt! Impossible!” she ejaculated. “Indeed it is she,” repeated Olga, “she always sang the solos in the
Convent choir. They used to say she had the finest voice in the Island. O! yes, it is Harriet, really.”

And she passed on to her own apartment. “Do _you_ believe it?” said Elinor Leyton, turning almost fiercely upon
Mrs. Pullen. “How can I do otherwise,” replied Margaret, “in the face of
Mademoiselle Brimont’s assertion? But it is strange that we have heard
nothing of Miss Brandt’s talent before!”

“Has she ever mentioned the fact to you, that she could sing?”

“Never! but there has been no opportunity. There is no instrument here,
and we have never talked of such a thing! Only fancy her possessing so
magnificent a voice! What a gift! She might make her fortune by it if
she needed to do so.”

“Well! she ought to be able to sing with that mouth of hers,” remarked
Miss Leyton almost bitterly, as she walked into the corridor. She was
unwilling to accord Harriet Brandt the possession of a single good
attribute. As the ladies traversed the corridor, they perceived that
others had been attracted by the singing as well as themselves, and
most of the bedroom doors were open. Mrs. Montague caught Margaret by
the sleeve as she passed. “O! Mrs. Pullen, what a heavenly voice! Whose is it? Fred is just mad
to know!”

“It’s only that girl Brandt!” replied Elinor roughly, as she tried to
escape further questioning. “Miss Brandt! what, the little West Indian! Mrs. Pullen, is Miss Leyton
jesting?”

“No, indeed, Mrs. Montague! Mademoiselle Brimont was our informant,”
said Margaret. But at that moment their attention was diverted by the appearance of
Harriet Brandt herself. She looked brilliant. In one hand she carried
her mandoline, a lovely little instrument, of sandal-wood inlaid with
mother-of-pearl,--her face was flushed with the exertion she had gone
through, and her abundant hair was somewhat in disorder. Mrs. Montague
pounced on her at once. “O! Miss Brandt! you are a sly puss! We have all been
delighted--enchanted! What do you mean by hiding your light under a
bushel in this way? Do come in here for a minute and sing us another
song! Major Montague is in ecstasies over your voice!”

“I can’t stop, I can’t indeed!” replied Miss Brandt, evidently pleased
with the effect she had produced, “because I am on my way down to dear
Madame Gobelli. I promised to sing for her this afternoon. I was only
trying my voice to see if it was fit for anything!”

She smiled at Mrs. Pullen as she spoke and added,

“I hope I have not disturbed the darling baby! I thought she would be
out this lovely afternoon!”

“O! no! you did not disturb her. We have all been much pleased, and
surprised to think that you have never told us that you could sing!”

“How could I tell that anyone would care about it?” replied Harriet,
indifferently, with a shrug of her shoulders. “But the Baron is very
musical! He has a charming tenor voice. I have promised to accompany
him! I mustn’t delay any longer! Good afternoon!”

And she flew down the stairs with her mandoline.