“I should not take the trouble to speak to her,” said one of the men.  “She may fasten herself on to you.  You know what a bore that is.”

“Oh, I can easily snub any one if I wish,” replied Mrs. Reffold, rather disdainfully.

So she hastened up to Bernardine, and held out her well-gloved hand.

“I had not a chance of speaking to you last night, Miss Holme,” she said.  “You retired so early.  I hope you have rested after your journey.  You seemed quite worn out.”

“Thank you,” said Bernardine, looking admiringly at the beautiful woman, and envying her, just as all plain women envy their handsome sisters.

“You are not alone, I suppose?” continued Mrs. Reffold.

“Yes, quite alone,” answered Bernardine.

“But you are evidently acquainted with Mr. Allitsen, your neighbour at table,” said Mrs. Reffold; “so you will not feel quite lonely here.  It is a great advantage to have a friend at a place like this.”

“I never saw him before last night,” said Bernardine.

“Is it possible?” said Mrs. Reffold, in her pleasantest voice.  “Then you have made a triumph of the Disagreeable Man.  He very rarely deigns to talk with any of us.  He does not even appear to see us.  He sits quietly and reads.  It would be interesting to hear what his conversation is like.  I should be quite amused to know what you did talk about.”

“I dare say you would,” said Bernardine quietly.

Then Mrs. Behold, wishing to screen her inquisitiveness, plunged into a description of Petershof life, speaking enthusiastically about everything, except the scenery, which she did not mention.  After a time she ventured to begin once more taking soundings.  But some how or other, those bright eyes of Bernardine, which looked at her so searchingly, made her a little nervous, and, perhaps, a little indiscreet.

“Your father will miss you,” she said tentatively.

“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!” (Mrs Reffold herself had quite succeeded in steeling her heart against her own invalid husband.) 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.