Blanquais was a much more modest place of reunion than
the Conversation-house at Baden-Baden. It was a small, low structure of
brightly painted wood, containing but three or four rooms, and furnished
all along its front with a narrow covered gallery, which offered a
delusive shelter from the rougher moods of the fine, fresh weather.
It was somewhat rude and shabby--the subscription for the season was
low--but it had a simple picturesqueness. Its little terrace was a very
convenient place for a stroll, and the great view of the ocean and of
the marble-white crags that formed the broad gate-way of the shallow
bay, was a sufficient compensation for the absence of luxuries. There
were a few people sitting in the gallery, and a few others scattered
upon the terrace; but the pleasure-seekers of Blanquais were, for the
most part, immersed in the salt water or disseminated on the grassy
downs.

"I am looking for my mother," said Angela Vivian.

"I hope your mother is well."

"Very well, thank you."

"May I help you to look for her?" Bernard asked.

Her eyes paused in their quest, and rested a moment upon her companion.

"She is not here," she said presently. "She has gone home."

"What do you call home?" Bernard demanded.

"The sort of place that we always call home; a bad little house that we
have taken for a month."

"Will you let me come and see it?"

"It 's nothing to see."

Bernard hesitated a moment.

"Is that a refusal?"

"I should never think of giving it so fine a name."

"There would be nothing fine in forbidding me your door. Don't think
that!" said Bernard, with rather a forced laugh.

It was difficult to know what the girl thought; but she said, in a
moment--

"We shall be very happy to see you. I am going home."

"May I walk with you so far?" asked Bernard.

"It is not far; it 's only three minutes." And Angela moved slowly to
the gate of the Casino.

CHAPTER XX

Bernard walked beside her, and for some moments nothing was said between
them. As the silence continued, he became aware of it, and it vexed
him that she should leave certain things unsaid. She had asked him no
question--neither whence he had come, nor how long he would stay, nor
what had happened to him since they parted. He wished to see whether
this was intention or accident. He was already complaining to himself
that she expressed no interest in him, and he was perfectly aware that
this was a ridiculous feeling. He