“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 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 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.