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Read Ebook: Ships That Pass in the Night by Harraden Beatrice
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Ebook has 1065 lines and 39594 words, and 22 pages
"I should think probably not," answered Bernardine. "One is not easily missed, you know." There was a twinkle in Bernardine's eye as she added, "He is probably occupied with other things!"
"What is your father?" asked Mrs. Reffold, in her most coaxing tones.
"I don't know what he is now," answered Bernardine placidly. "But he was a genius. He is dead."
Mrs. Reffold gave a slight start, for she began to feel that this insignificant little person was making fun of her. This would never do, and before witnesses too. So she gathered together her best resources and said:
"Dear me, how very unfortunate: a genius too. Death is indeed cruel. And here one sees so much of it, that unless one learns to steel one's heart, one becomes melancholy. Ah, it is indeed sad to see all this suffering!" She then gave an account of several bad cases of consumption, not forgetting to mention two instances of suicide which had lately taken place in Petershof.
"One gentleman was a Russian," she said. "Fancy coming all the way, from Russia to this little out-of-the-world place! But people come from the uttermost ends of the earth, though of course there are many Londoners here. I suppose you are from London?"
"I am not living in London now," said Bernardine cautiously.
"But you know it, without doubt," continued Mrs. Reffold. "There are several Kensington people here. You may meet some friends: indeed in our hotel there are two or three families from Lexham Gardens."
Bernardine smiled a little viciously; looked first at Mrs. Reffold's two companions with an amused sort of indulgence, and then at the lady herself. She paused a moment, and then said:
"Have you asked all the questions you wish to ask? And, if so, may I ask one of you. Where does one get the best tea?"
Mrs. Reffold gave an inward gasp, but pointed gracefully to a small confectionery shop on the other side of the road. Mrs. Reffold did everything gracefully.
Bernardine thanked her, crossed the road, and passed into the shop.
"Now I have taught her a lesson not to interfere with me," said Bernardine to herself. "How beautiful she is."
Mrs. Reffold and her two companions went silently on their way. At last the silence was broken.
"Well, I'm blessed!" said the taller of the two, lighting a cigar.
"So am I," said the other, lighting his cigar too.
"Those are precisely my own feelings," remarked Mrs. Reffold.
But she had learnt her lesson.
CONCERNING W?RLI AND MARIE.
W?RLI, the little hunchback postman, a cheery soul, came whistling up the Kurhaus stairs, carrying with him that precious parcel of registered letters, which gave him the position of being the most important person in Petershof. He was a linguist, too, was W?rli, and could speak broken English in a most fascinating way, agreeable to every one, but intelligible only to himself. Well, he came whistling up the stairs when he heard Marie's blithe voice humming her favourite spinning-song.
"Ei, Ei!" he said to himself; "Marie is in a good temper to-day. I will give her a call as I pass."
He arranged his neckerchief and smoothed his curls; and when he reached the end of the landing, he paused outside a little glass-door, and, all unobserved, watched Marie in her pantry cleaning the candlesticks and lamps.
Marie heard a knock, and, looking up from her work, saw W?rli.
"Good day, W?rli," she said, glancing hurriedly at a tiny broken mirror suspended on the wall. "I suppose you have a letter for me. How delightful!"
"Never mind about the letter just now," he said, waving his hand as though wishing to dismiss the subject. "How nice to hear you singing so sweetly, Marie! Dear me, in the old days at Gr?sch, how often I have heard that song of the spinning-wheels. You have forgotten the old days, Marie, though you remember the song."
"Give me my letter, W?rli, and go about your work," said Marie, pretending to be impatient. But all the same her eyes looked extremely friendly. There was something very winning about the hunchback's face.
"Ah, ah! Marie," he said, shaking his curly head; "I know how it is with you: you only like people in fine binding. They have not always fine hearts."
"What nonsense you talk W?rli!" said Marie "There, just hand me the oil-can. You can fill this lamp for me. Not too full, you goose! And this one also, ah, you're letting the oil trickle down! Why, you're not fit for anything except carrying letters! Here, give me my letter."
"What pretty flowers," said W?rli. "Now if there is one thing I do like, it is a flower. Can you spare me one, Marie? Put one in my button-hole, do!"
"You are a nuisance this afternoon," said Marie, smiling and pinning a flower on W?rli's blue coat. Just then a bell rang violently.
"Those Portuguese ladies will drive me quite mad," said Marie. "They always ring just when I am enjoying myself?"
"When you are enjoying yourself!" said W?rli triumphantly.
"Of course," returned Marie; "I always do enjoy cleaning the oil-lamps; I always did!"
"Ah, I'd forgotten the oil-lamps!" said W?rli.
"And so had I!" laughed Marie. "Na, na, there goes that bell again! Won't they be angry! Won't they scold at me! Here, W?rli, give me my letter, and I'll be off."
"I never told you I had any letter for you," remarked W?rli. "It was entirely your own idea. Good afternoon, Fr?ulein Marie."
The Portuguese ladies' bell rang again, still more passionately this time; but Marie did not seem to hear nor care. She wished to be revenged on that impudent postman. She went to the top of the stairs and called after W?rli in her most coaxing tones:
"Do step down one moment; I want to show you something!"
"I must deliver the registered letters," said W?rli, with official haughtiness. "I have already wasted too much of my time."
"Won't you waste a few more minutes on me?" pleaded Marie pathetically. "It is not often I see you now."
W?rli came down again, looking very happy.
"I want to show you such a beautiful photograph I've had taken," said Marie. "Ach, it is beautiful!"
"You must give one to me," said W?rli eagerly.
"Oh, I can't do that," replied Marie, as she opened the drawer and took out a small packet. "It was a present to me from the Polish gentleman himself. He saw me the other day here in the pantry. I was so tired, and I had fallen asleep with my broom, just as you see me here. So he made a photograph of me. He admires me very much. Isn't it nice? and isn't the Polish gentleman clever? and isn't it nice to have so much attention paid to one? Oh, there's that horrid bell again! Good afternoon, Herr W?rli. That is all I have to say to you, thank you."
W?rli's feelings towards the Polish gentleman were not of the friendliest that day.
THE DISAGREEABLE MAN.
ROBERT ALLITSEN told Bernardine that she was not likely to be on friendly terms with the English people in the Kurhaus.
"They will not care about you, and you will not care about the foreigners. So you will thus be thrown on your own resources, just as I was when I came."
"I cannot say that I have any resources," Bernardine answered. "I don't feel well enough to try to do any writing, or else it would be delightful to have the uninterrupted leisure."
So she had probably told him a little about her life and occupation; although it was not likely that she would have given him any serious confidences. Still, people are often surprisingly frank about themselves, even those who pride themselves upon being the most reticent mortals in the world.
"But now, having the leisure," she continued, "I have not the brains!"
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