THE STORY MOVES ON AT LAST

Bernardine was playing chess one day with the Swedish Professor. On the Kurhaus terrace the guests were sunning themselves, warmly wrapped up to protect themselves from the cold, and well-provided with parasols to protect themselves from the glare. Some were reading, some were playing cards or Russian dominoes, and others were doing nothing. There was a good deal of fun, and a great deal of screaming amongst the Portuguese colony. The little danseuse and three gentlemen acquaintances were drinking coffee, and not behaving too quietly. Pretty Fräulein Muller was leaning over her balcony carrying on a conversation with a picturesque Spanish youth below. Most of the English party had gone sledging and tobogganing. Mrs. Reffold had asked Bernardine to join them, but she had refused. Mrs. Reffold’s friends were anything but attractive to Bernardine, although she liked Mrs. Reffold herself immensely. There was no special reason why she should like her; she certainly had no cause to admire her every-day behaviour, nor her neglect of her invalid husband, who was passing away, uncared for in the present, and not likely to be mourned for in the future. Mrs. Reffold was gay, careless, and beautiful. She understood nothing about nursing, and cared less. So a trained nurse looked after Mr. Reffold, and Mrs. Reffold went sledging.

“Dear Wilfrid is so unselfish,” she said. “He will not have me stay at home. But I feel very selfish.” That was her stock remark. Most people answered her by saying: “Oh no, Mrs. Reffold, don’t say that.” But when she made the remark to Bernardine, and expected the usual reply, Bernardine said instead: “Mr. Reffold seems lonely.”

“Oh, he has a trained nurse, and she can read to him,” said Mrs. Reffold hurriedly. She seemed ruffled.

“I had a trained nurse once,” replied Bernardine; “and she could read; but she would not. She said it hurt her throat.”

“Dear me, how very unfortunate for you,” said Mrs. Reffold. “Ah, there is Captain Graham calling. I must not keep the sledges waiting.”

That was a few days ago, but to-day, when Bernardine was playing chess with the Swedish Professor, Mrs. Reffold came to her. There was a curious mixture of shyness and abandon in Mrs. Reffold’s manner.

“Miss Holme,” she said, “I have thought of such a splendid idea. Will you go and see Mr. Reffold this afternoon? That would be a nice little change for him.”

Bernardine smiled.

“If you wish it,” she answered.

Mrs. Reffold nodded and hastened away, and Bernardine continued her game, and, having finished it, rose to go.

The Reffolds were rich, and lived in a suite of apartments in the more luxurious part of the Kurhaus.

Bernardine knocked at the door, and the nurse came to open it.

“Mrs. Reffold asks me to visit Mr. Reffold,” Bernardine said; and the nurse showed her into the pleasant sitting-room.

Mr. Reffold was lying on the sofa. He looked up as Bernardine came in, and a smile of pleasure spread over his wan face.

“I don’t know whether I intrude,” said Bernardine; “but Mrs. Reffold said I might come to see you.”

Mr. Reffold signed to the nurse to withdraw.

She had never before spoken to him. She had often seen him lying by himself in the sunshine.

“Are you paid for coming to me he?” asked eagerly.

The words seemed rude enough, but there was no rudeness in the manner.

“No, I am not paid,” she said gently; and then she took a chair and sat near him.

“Ah, that’s well!” he said, with a sigh of relief “I’m so tired of paid service. To know that things are done for me because a certain amount of francs are given so that those things may be done well, one gets weary of it; that’s all!”

There was bitterness in every word he spoke. “I lie here,” he said, “and the loneliness of it the loneliness of it!”

“Shall I read to you?” she asked kindly. She did not know what to say to him.

“I want to talk first,” he replied. “I want to talk first to some one who is not paid for talking to me. I have often watched you, and wondered who you were. Why do you look so sad? No one is waiting for you to die?”

“Don’t talk like that!” she said; and she bent over him and arranged the cushions for him more comfortably. He looked just like a great lank tired child.

“Are you one of my wife’s friends?” he asked.

“I don’t suppose I am,” she answered gently; “but I like her, all the same. Indeed, I like her very much. And I think her beautiful!”

“Ah, she is beautiful!” he said eagerly. “Doesn’t she look splendid in her furs? By Jove, you are right! She is a beautiful woman. I am proud of her!”

Then the smile faded from his face.

“Beautiful,” he said half to himself, “but hard.”

“Come now,” said Bernardine; “you are surrounded with books and newspapers. What shall I read to you?”

“No one reads what I want,” he answered peevishly. “My tastes are not their tastes. I don’t suppose you would care to read what I want to hear!”

“Well,” she said cheerily, “try me. Make your choice.”

“Very well, the Sporting and Dramatic,” he said. “Read every word of that. And about that theatrical divorce case. And every word of that too. Don’t you skip, and cheat me.”

She laughed and settled herself down to amuse him. And he listened contentedly.

“That is something like literature,” he said once or twice. “I can understand papers of that sort going like wild-fire.”

When he was tired of being read to, she talked to him in a manner that would have astonished the Disagreeable Man: not of books, nor learning, but of people she had met and of Places she had seen; and there was fun in everything she said. She knew London well, and she could tell him about the Jewish and the Chinese quarters, and about her adventures in company with a man who took her here, there, and everywhere.

She made him some tea, and she cheered the poor fellow as he had not been cheered for months.

“You’re just a little brick,” he said, when she was leaving. Then once more he added eagerly:

“And you’re not to be paid, are you?”

“Not a single sou!” she laughed. “What a strange idea of yours!”

“You are not offended?” he said anxiously. “But you can’t think what a difference it makes to me. You are not offended?”

“Not in the least!” she answered. “I know quite well how you mean it. You want a little kindness with nothing at the back of it. Now, good-bye!”

He called her when she was outside the door.

“I say, will you come again soon?”

“Yes, I will come to-morrow.”

“Do you know you’ve been a little brick. I hope I haven’t tired you. You are only a bit of a thing yourself. But, by Jove, you know how to put a fellow in a good temper!”

When Mrs. Reffold went down to table-d’hote that night, she met Bernardine on the stairs, and stopped to speak with her.

“We’ve had a splendid afternoon,” she said; “and we’ve arranged to go again to-morrow at the same time. Such a pity you don’t come! Oh, by the way, thank you for going to see my husband. I hope he did not tire you. He is a little querulous, I think. He so enjoyed your visit. Poor fellow! it is sad to see him so ill, isn’t it?”