Was the Disagreeable Man, perhaps, a reader of character?  Did he know how to help her in his own grim gruff way?  He himself had suffered so much; perhaps he did know.

CHAPTER VIII.

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 Fraulein 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.