“Nothing pleases her,” complained Mrs. Sefton; “she seems tired of everything. I believe she is only going to the bazaar because she thinks it will give me pleasure; and the crowd and hot room will make her ill. Run after her, Bessie, and beg her not to go. You and I will do very well together, and we can choose something pretty for her off the Crawford’s stall. I would rather she did not go, I would indeed.”
“It will do her good,” pleaded Bessie; “the room will not be crowded just at first, and it will be such a pretty sight. She would be dull if we left her at home and the drive will refresh her.”
“Do you think so?” returned Mrs. Sefton doubtfully. “But I am beginning to lose heart; nothing we can do seems to please her. I believe she is getting tired of Brighton; last night she said she wished we were at home; but Oatlands is far too quiet for her. I think I shall take rooms in town for the season, and afterward we will go abroad. The Crawford’s are going to the Engadine, and they are lively young people, and their society will be good for Edna. Perhaps,” looking at Bessie wistfully, “your mother might be induced to spare you, and we could take you with us. You have never seen Switzerland, Bessie?”
“No, none of us have ever been abroad. Oh, it would be too delightful!” but as Bessie went off smiling to get ready for the drive, she told herself that any Swiss journey would be very dubious. “That is one of the things one has to long for all one’s life,” thought Bessie, “one of the denied good things that are to come presently.”
Edna came down to the carriage looking quite bright and pretty; she was no longer in a misanthropic mood, the mere exertion of dressing to please her mother had done her a world of good. It was a brilliant afternoon and already groups of well-dressed people were moving in the direction of the Pavilion. “There are the Tozers, mamma!” she exclaimed beginning to look interested; “and there is Lady Hampton in that victoria; she has her old bonnet on; what a dear old dowdy she is! I tell you what, Bessie, I mean to dress well, even when I am a cranky old maid; there is a great support in clothes—and—no, it can’t be——”
“Well, finish your sentence,” observed Bessie. “Have you seen a ghost, Edna?” laughing rather nervously, for Edna had changed color in a singular manner.
“No, only a likeness; but of course I was mistaken;” but, all the same, Bessie knew that Edna had really seen Mr. Sinclair, however much she might doubt the evidence of her eyes. She had caught a glimpse of him, too—he was on his way to the Pavilion with the other people.
Edna did not recover herself in a hurry; she looked white and shaken; the likeness must have been a strong one, and brought back the past too vividly. Bessie glanced at her anxiously. Certainly, Edna’s looks verified her words. Mr. Sinclair would read the truth for himself. They had arrived at the Pavilion now, and Mrs. Sefton and Edna were already exchanging greetings with their friends.
“Does it not look like a picture of Vanity Fair?” she whispered, when they at last made their way into the bazaar.
Well, it was a curious sight, certainly; a young man with powdered hair, in a blue velvet coat, offered them programmes of the entertainment; a little Moorish girl, with a necklace of gold coins, showed them her flower-basket, and a stately Queen Elizabeth smiled at Edna across the counter. A harlequin and a cavalier mounted guard over the post-office, and a gypsy presided over a fish pond. Mary Stuart and a Greek lady were in charge of the refreshment stall. It was a relief when the band struck up one of Strauss’ waltzes, and drowned the din of voices; but as the sad, sweet strains of “Verliebt und Verloren” floated through the room, a pained expression crossed Edna’s face.