“Yes, and he’s towing along our pet aversion Mrs. D. L. Smythe,” said Grace.
Bab looked toward the approaching pair.
Monsier Duval and Mrs. De Lancey Smythe not yet aware that they were under the observation of the Stuart party, were deeply engaged in conversation.
Barbara, watching closely, saw the Frenchman glance up, then he quickly dropped his eyes, and an expression of cautious cunning flitted over his face. His lips moved, the widow gave a half frightened look, then her expression of absorption changed to one of languid indifference. As the two neared the steps, from their demeanor, one would have concluded them to be mere acquaintances.
What was the meaning of it all? Barbara wondered. And what secret understanding was there between those two people? Bab’s observant eye noted that Monsieur Duval carried over one arm the heavy cloak in which she had seen the widow wrapped a short time before. Had Mrs. De Lancey Smythe gone to meet the Frenchman, and, if so why did she not do so openly? Suppose Mrs. De Lancey Smythe were an impostor, with a game to play. Suppose Mr. Duval were—Barbara sighed impatiently. She was letting her imagination run riot. She resolved to dismiss the whole tiresome business from her mind, and enjoy herself.
At that moment Maud Warren came languidly forward, the little count at her heels. “Miss Stuart,” she announced, “I have persuaded Papa to let me give a masked ball before we go back to New York. There are a number of smart people here at Palm Beach, and I want the count to see one of our American balls. We shall wear our masks until midnight, and then have a cotillon afterwards.”
“That will be delightful, Maud!” replied Ruth. “And that reminds me. Father and I have never arranged about our picnic to-morrow. Don’t you think it would be fun to motor over to the big ostrich farm and have our luncheon there under the trees?”
“Very delightful,” agreed Maud. “Don’t you think so, Count?”
“I shall be charmed,” replied the little count, with an exaggerated bow.
“But we shan’t,” whispered Mollie, naughtily to Barbara, under cover of general conversation.