Mrs. Burton gave a tiny, impatient shake to her shoulders.
“Why of course, Bettina, I want to go with you; haven’t I answered you? I am really anxious to see the little secret garden and would have been envious of you had you gone without me. Put down Mr. Hale’s note, I will read it later. I must have Captain Burton’s letter ready for the next post.”
And Bettina departed, having placed her letter, which she had taken out of its envelope and left half open upon Mrs. Burton’s table in the center of her sitting-room.
After she had gone, Mrs. Burton finished her own letter, then dressed and went downstairs for a walk. She did not regard the reading of Bettina’s note from Mr. Hale as of immediate importance, as she already knew its contents.
Five minutes after Mrs. Burton’s departure, some one else knocked at her door. When there was no reply from the inside it was slowly opened. This was not an intrusion; the young French girl, Julie Dupont, had been told to leave Mrs. Burton’s gown in her room, even if she were not there to receive it.
These instructions had been given Julie by Marguerite Arnot, who had been altering a costume which Mrs. Burton had said she wished to wear later in the day.
Therefore, there was no objection to Julie’s entering the sitting-room, or having entered it, to stand quietly in the room and study it in detail.
By a chance the little French girl, who was the latest addition to Miss Patricia Lord’s household, had never been in Mrs. Burton’s room before. Now its luxury and typically French appearance, fascinated her. It was true that Julie had seen such rooms before; she had not been apprenticed to a fashionable dressmaker without having been sent on errands which had taken her to French homes of nearly the same character as Miss Lord’s present temporary one. But Julie was too intensely French herself to find their fascination grow less.
At present she appreciated details in the furnishings of the sitting-room as no one of the American Camp Fire girls could have appreciated them. As Julie’s eyes swept from the beautifully shaded blue walls to examine each separate article of furniture, her eyes rested upon the note to Bettina in David Hale’s handwriting. She recognized the writing. He had recently loaned Marguerite Arnot books in which he had written his own name and a few lines as well.
Julie was able to read only a very little English which she had acquired at school.