separate beds. To her relief, they were all, evenFanchon, sound asleep. She sat down for a short time by the open windowand thought over matters. She did not altogether like the turn ofevents. Try as she would, she felt that she would never be anything buta nobody at Castle Beverley. More anxious than ever was she to secureHarry Jordan as her affianced husband. She had a shrewd guess as to hissort of character, and wondered what impression she would make on himwhen they met the following evening. Poor Brenda went to sleep fairlyhappy, on the whole, that night, little guessing what a very activedisturber to her peace Mademoiselle d'Etienne would prove herself to be.
The next day broke, as usual, with cloudless splendour. The differentladies went out Brenda strolled abroad with her pupils. She found ashady place under a cliff, and sat there to rest, and looked around her.
Meanwhile, Mademoiselle devoted herself to Mrs Dawson. She insisted ongoing shopping, if not for her, yet with her. And Mademoiselle had aneye for a bargain which even that astute Englishwoman, Mrs Dawson,could never hope to possess. Why, those tomatoes which she purchasedfor almost nothing would never have been observed at all by the goodlady, and then those little crabs which were going for a few pence (MrsDawson, as a rule, never purchased small crabs, but Mademoiselle beggedof her, on this occasion, to do so) were soon disposed of in the worthywoman's basket; and lettuces, with other tempting fresh vegetables, weresecured. Mademoiselle implored of Mrs Dawson to let her arrange thesupper table that night.
"You have bought but little," she said; "nevertheless, it is enough. Iwill surprise the good, the dear ladies of your charming family with theFrench supper which I will prepare."
"But Mary Anne will never stand it," objected Mrs Dawson.
"Is she your cook?"
"Yes, and a very good one too--I pay her a lot of wages."
"Never mind: I will counsel her, and I will talk with her: I will gether to think that she herself has made the _souffle_ and the _omelette_and the tomato soup and the delectable preparation of crabs. She willknow it not, except as her own handiwork, and I will be your cook."
"It is too much to expect of you," said Mrs Dawson, really won over byher paying guest's extraordinary kindness.
"Have I found a home--and am I ungrateful?" was Mademoiselle's response.
The result of this was that the two ladies came back the most excellentfriends, and sat together until early dinner in that stifling littleparlour. In that small room Mademoiselle got a good deal of informationwith regard to Brenda, whom she was interested in for more reasons thanone, and also saw the advertisement for the lost bracelet with her owneyes. She read it over carefully and her black eyes glittered withexcitement.
"It is a reward _magnifique_!" she said.
"I wish I could find it," said Mrs Dawson.
"If we were both to find it, _chere amie_," said the Frenchwoman, "wemight divide the so great profits."
"But we never can," said Mrs Dawson. Then she added, after a minute'spause, "All the same, I'd like to say something."
"And what is that?" asked Mademoiselle.
"You mustn't breathe it, please. You're quite a stranger to me, butcoming from Hazlitt Chase, and knowing Miss Beverley, I suppose you'reto be trusted." Mademoiselle laid her hand dramatically on her very fatchest.
"I suppose so," she replied.
"And I must confide in some one, for the thing seems to burn a sort ofhole in me."
"My good, dear, delightful friend," said the Frenchwoman, "don't let thesecret prey on you in that fashion, for it will undermine your soprecious health. Confide it to one who is ardent to help you, who hasfor you already the affection the most profound."
"It is nothing, of course," said Mrs Dawson, "and you will promise notto tell."
"I have promised."
Again the hand was laid over the region of the heart.
"Well, then,--it is just this. I know a good jewel when I see it, formy poor husband, the late Dawson, was in the jewellery line, and hetaught me to know at a glance the difference between poor gold and goodgold, and imitation stones and real ones; and if you will believe me,Mademoiselle d'Etienne, that little minx of a Fanchon Amberley came intothe house the other evening with a bangle on her arm which for all theworld might have been this,"--here she pointed to the _Standard_. "Thatbangle might have meant three guineas in my pocket, for it was eighteencarat gold as I am alive, and the turquoise in it was the most beautifulI ever saw."
Mademoiselle's dark face flushed and then paled; but she did not stir orshow any other sign of special interest. After a minute, she saidgently:
"There are so many bangles now-a-days, and they are all more or lessalike."
"Of course Miss Fanchon--"
"Ridiculous to call an English girl by one of our names--"
"Had it of her own--she said a friend gave it to her, but she was verymysterious about it."
"I'd like to see it," said Mademoiselle.
"And so would I," said Mrs Dawson.
"I'd like to see it for a reason," said Mademoiselle. "Mademoiselled'Etienne, you don't mean--"
"I don't know that I mean anything, but if I saw it, I'd know once forall."
"What would you know?"
"I tell you what, Mrs Dawson. I have examined the bracelet that littlePauline Hungerford--one of my adorable pupils--has worn, which she goton the day of the break-up. I took it in my hand, and she allowed me toexamine it, and I know the other was exactly the same except for thedifference in the stones. I should like to see the bracelet that theyoung lady who ought not to possess bangles, wears."
"I don't believe you will: there's something about that governess whichmakes me think her a deep one--I can't be certain, but I have mysuspicions--and she seemed distressed, I don't know why, when I noticedthe bangle on Miss Fanchon's arm."
"Leave the matter to me," said Mademoiselle. "This interests me; but Imust be calm. You and I, dear Madame, are true friends, are we not?"
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
THE LOCKED DRAWER.
Brenda was looking eagerly forward to the evening. A great deal woulddepend on the evening, for then she would see Harry Jordan again, andfind out whether he was impressed or not. She had already perceived inthat charming youth a passion for greatness--a snobbish devotion to thegreat ones of this world. She had wondered within herself why he caredso much for people with "handles," as he expressed it, to their names.If he was as rich as he described himself, surely these things scarcelymattered to him.
Well, she at least was gently born, and had friends in the class whichhe so coveted to know. She was very, very pretty, and he had almosttold her that he loved her.
"Fanchon," said the governess to her eldest pupil that day, "we'll goout by ourselves after supper to-night and walk on the promenade andlisten to the band. The two younger children must go to bed immediatelyafter supper; I must insist on that; Mrs Simpkins always helps me withregard to that. She thinks it is good for children to put them early tobed. But for that one redeeming trait in her character, I should detestthe woman."
"Oh, every one in the house is detestable!" said Fanchon, "exceptperhaps Mademoiselle."
Brenda lowered her brows. The two younger girls were well on in front.
"I like Mademoiselle the least of all," she said.
"Do you, Brenda?" cried Fanchon. "I wonder why."
"I detest her," said Brenda.
"Oh, but she's so funny," exclaimed Fanchon.
"Do you know," said Brenda, "that she's leaving Hazlitt Chase? Penelopementioned the fact quite casually to me yesterday. She will not bethere when darling Penelope returns. Perhaps if the ladies knew thatlittle item of news, they wouldn't be quite so agreeable to her. Theythink a great deal of the fact that she's French teacher at the Chase."
Fanchon yawned.
"I dare say," she answered. "But after all, what does that matter?She's rather a pleasant woman, I think, and she does talk such funnyEnglish; it's as good as a play to hear her."
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"Well," said Brenda, "we needn't bother about her now. The great thingis for us to slip away after supper. Your friend will be there, ofcourse, and you will talk to him."
"You mean Mr Burbery," said Fanchon, blushing. "Don't colour up likethat, dear--I wouldn't if I were you. He can't mean anything, ofcourse."
"Oh, of course not," said Fanchon; but she coloured more vividly thanever, while a delicious thrill ran through her childish breast. "Iwonder," she said in a low tone, "if you will