The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1910-02-09
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Il 4 VACABOuD HEROINE /
$L BY ANNIE M
CHAPTER III.
BY ANNIE EDWARDS.
Continued.

says RCSe, SCTuIluILluS Will Lioiio
stricken eyes the girls ragged, dust
stained clothes, and remembering
with all the shame of which hel
small soul is capable that the lady's
maid scrutinizes them also. "Ano
you are sunburnt-you are very sun
burnt, Belinda"
II should say 1 was, just! II you
had been playing paume under such
4 Jul as this, you would be sunbu:c1t
too. But where is your maid? You
don't mean to say you have travelled
all the way from Brompton to St
Jean de Luz alone?"
Rose on this gives a side glance
at her gorgeous abigail, and whis'
pers in Belinda's ears: THAT is my
maid, my dear, and the most helpless
the most unbearable creature in the
world. Still, as I had her from Lady
Harriet Howes-and a particular
favor her ladyship made of it don't
like to change. It's an immense
thing" pla%intively, "for ones maid
to have lived in a good style of place
you know"
at know" repeats Belinda, with
her hooking sgamin laugh. Yes,
am the fellow to know about fine Ia
dies and their maids. am I not? But
do you mean to say, Rose, that you
and that magnifcently dressed young
woman have travelled from one end
Of France to the other without get
ting run away WITH"
tt have not been altogether
without an escort" responds the
widow, and bushes.
Belinda thinks she must have been
wrong about the paint; not knowing
that there are women who blush and
paint, too.
"I was fortunate enough in Paris
to come across a very old and dear
friend, who took me about q little,
and then, somehow or. other, I met
with him again at Bordeaux, Curious
coincidence, was it not?" laying her
plump hand with girlish playfulness
upon Belinda's slender arm. But
/ have more curious things still to
tell you when we are alone. Mes
bagages." This to the dignifed
Basque coachman, who, with the air
of a prince, his cap on his head,
stands waiting to be paid. Belinda,
will you make that savage compre-
bend that I want my luggage? Ten
large boxes, tell him, each with a blue
ribbon and-oh, the awful dog!
Some one take the awful dog away"
Costa has been critically examining
the newcomers, mistress and maid,
and conveys his poor opinion of them
to Belinda by a short gruff bark. II
thought all the dogs in France had to
be muzzled by law. Spencer, Spen-
Ger! Get between me and that mon
steri"
It is long before Rose can be made
to believe that her precious boxes
will be brought from the station like
all other peoples boxes, OF the hotel
omnibus. Then, when rooms have to
be selected for her, arise new trou-
bles. She must have a bedroom (and
the drawing-room must have a bal
cony covered with 1owers), a bedroom
not too neal some one else in case of
fire-a bedroom not too near some
n else in case Of their talking in
their sleep. And Spencer's must be
on the same floor. And is there any
way of ascertaining who slept in the
room last? Will Belinda request the
people of the house to swear that
there has been no one with the
smallpox this summer?
Swear? Why, a Basque will
swear to anything you ask him." cries
the girl, mischievously. "Of course
people with smallpox have slept here
this summer, as they have at every
hotel in the place. What does it mat.
ter, Rose. You will be so mosquito
bitten, like our friend Augustus, by
tomorrow morning, that you won't
recognize yourself in the glass. A
touch of smallpox more or less can
not matter"
With which scanty consolation
Rose, the tears rising in her foolish
frightened eyes, has to be contented.
She languishes away to a mirror,
and taking Off her veil, begins to dust
her delicate rose-and-white face with
her cambria handkerchief.
I use the word dust" intentions
ally. Belinda, under the same cir
cumstances, would rub her sun,
tanned skin as vigorously as a house
maid rubs mahogany. But women OF
fashion have compilations, not skins.
Rose treats her tearfully. tenderly
as you will see a connoisseur treat
the surface of some fine enamel OF
other piece of perishable art; not, il
may be, without reason.
II have grown quite an old woman
have I not?" She puts a smile on the
corners of her lips, then turns and
presents her face for the girls admir-.
alton. II dare say you would hardly
have known me if you had met me,
without warning, in the street? Now
tell me the honest truth, dear; l hate
f~attery."
Rose, at this present time of her
mortal life, has approached as near
as it is possible for a good looking
woman ever to do to her fortieth
year. But, if there be truth in thai
delightful French adage that a wo.