“Oh, no—it wasn’t,” said Fanchon; “I saw him walking with a girl with black hair—a very tall, showy-looking girl—and they were laughing loudly.”
Brenda bit her lips. She knew this fact quite well, but had trusted that Fanchon had not noticed it. When they returned to the house, the two younger girls were really sound asleep, and Brenda and her pupil got quietly into bed—Brenda to think of what means she could adopt to bring fickle Harry, that merchant prince, once again to her side; and Fanchon to wonder if by any possible plan she could induce Brenda to allow her to wear the bracelet on the following evening.
Meanwhile, plans were being made in another quarter which were likely to upset the most astute calculations on the part of Brenda and her eldest pupil. After breakfast, Mademoiselle managed to have a word alone with Nina Amberley. There and then, Nina told her that she had discovered how very wise Mademoiselle was—that Fanchon really had an ugly old cheap bangle, which she knew only cost a shilling, and that beyond doubt the said bangle would appear on Nina’s wrist that very evening when Mademoiselle took Josie and herself for their surprise treat. Mademoiselle could have hugged Nina as she spoke. Little as she cared for the plain face of that extraordinary child, she thought that same face almost beautiful at that moment. But she had her work to do. She meant to be thoroughly sure of her facts; and, after parting from Nina and cautioning her not to reveal a word but to trust absolutely to the poor Frenchwoman for an evening of such intense fascination that she could never forget it as long as she lived, she hurried from the child’s presence, went up to her room, and there she dressed herself in her very best.
Mademoiselle’s best was plain, but it was eminently suitable. She ran downstairs, and entered Mrs Dawson’s parlour.
“I should not be the least surprised,” she said in a low voice, “if you and I, dear Madame, did obtain our little, our very little reward for the eighteen carat gold bangle with the beautiful turquoise stone in the clasp. But I tell you no more; only, Madame, you will miss me to-day at my mid-day meal; for I must repair to Castle Beverley in order to see my two beloved pupils—Miss Honora and Miss Penelope.”
Of course Mrs Dawson was all curiosity, and of course Mademoiselle was all mystery. Nothing would induce the French governess to reveal so much as a pin’s point of how she knew what she knew. In the end Mademoiselle departed, making first the necessary proviso that Mrs Dawson should not repeat to any of the ladies of the pension where the French governess had gone.
“For the sake of ourselves, it is best not to do so, I you do assure,” said Mademoiselle, and then she started to walk to Castle Beverley.
Mademoiselle had by no means a good complexion; but then she never flushed, or looked the least hot; and when that long walk had come to an end, she had not a speck of dust on her neat black dress, for she had taken the precaution to bring with her a tiny clothes brush, with which she carefully removed what she had gathered from the dusty highroad; and her hair was as fresh as though she had just arranged it before the best looking-glass in the world. She drew on a pair of new gloves, which she did not wear while she was walking, and, with her dainty parasol unfurled, and her exquisite feet perfectly shod, she appeared quite a stylish-looking person when she enquired of the powdered footman if Miss Beverley was within.
Yes, Miss Beverley was within. Mademoiselle produced her neat card, and begged that it might be conveyed to the young lady. Meanwhile, the servant asked her into one of the sitting-rooms. There, a few minutes later, Honora joined her.
Honora was not glad to see her, but that did not greatly matter. She was hospitable to her finger-ends, and would not allow the tired governess to go away until she was thoroughly refreshed after her long walk.