The Promenade des Anglais is visited, and Blondine goes in raptures over the magnificent horses, the jaunty equipages, and elegant toilettes. The Casino is packed; they espy uncle Dick frantically indicating with his arm that, as the crush is so great, he cannot get to them now, but will get in their vicinity as soon as it is possible. Sir Barry does his best to do his duty toward the two ladies thrown upon his tender mercies. He and Blondine talk, while Dolores listens to the music of the band, for music in Italy is worth listening to.
"Dolores, for Heaven's sake let us walk."
Blondine has nudged Miss Litchfield several times, but no notice being paid to her efforts, she has been obliged to speak. Blondine declares something ails her foot, a cramp, or asleep, or something, she cannot just decide which. Sir Barry clears the way, and they go, to be presently met by uncle Dick and two ladies. Sir Barry lifts his hat courteously as uncle Dick presents Mrs. St. James and Miss Severn. Mrs. St. James says they were caught in a shower on the way to Villafranche, and when they had hurried back found the sun shining most gloriously. Blondine bows and smiles—when does Blondine not smile?—and Dolores? Dolores deliberately turns her back; of course it is most unpardonably rude. Uncle Dick never notices anything wrong, he never does, poor deluded man, but goes on talking about one thing, then another. Blondine is shocked; the warm blood surges up in her face, covering her ears and throat. It is the first time she has ever had cause to feel ashamed of pretty, gentle Dolores. Poor Blondine ponders and worries; what has come over Dolores? she must certainly be ill to act so strangely. Sir Barry looks surprised as well as pained, but does his best to make things pass off as smoothly as possible. The walk back to the hotel was anything but pleasant. If there had been no gentlemen present Rea Severn would have been sullen or sulky; her manner now, however, was something betwixt and between the two. Mrs. St. James received the "direct cut" from Miss Litchfield with cool self-possession and indifference. If she noticed the insult offered to her she made no sign. A clever nineteenth century woman was Arial St. James.
CHAPTER VIII.
YOU NEVER CAN TELL.
With every pleasing, every prudent part,
Say what does Chloe want?
She wants a heart.
—Pope.
"No one could expect anything better from a person of Miss Litchfield's position. Of course you could not help noticing her manner yesterday; the girl's bringing up must account for her actions. Any man, a gentleman, who would marry a negress, could not but expect some flaw in his family."