"And that reminds me. Isn't it provoking how many people we never see any more! I have had a delicious flirtation here with a fair man whose name I don't know. We passed each other on the stairs of the hotel nearly every morning, and one day I dropped my bag, and he picked it up and spoke to me. I was frightened to ask anyone who he was, and I never saw him in the _salle à manger_, but he used to pass me on the stairs--oh, quite six or seven times a day after that; and we had such a jolly time. Then, suddenly, he went away, never said a word to me or wrote any letter. I shall never see him any more--_mais tout bien ou rien_, if it were always to be on the stairs, I am glad that he is gone."
A tinkling gong called Gabrielle to lunch, and she found her father alone in the dining-room. A mutual question as to Maryska's whereabouts revealed the fact that she had not been seen since breakfast and that none of the servants had news of her. Once or twice before, when Harry Lassett had been cajoled into some wild excursion, Maryska had spent most of the day out of doors; but both Silvester and his daughter seemed to think that this was not such an occasion, and they were troubled accordingly.
"I really fear that it is time that Mr. Faber took charge of her," Silvester said, as he sat down wearily. "She is very self-willed, and we have no hold over her. Would Harry be responsible for this, do you think?"
"How can he be? Is he not at Brighton? I hardly think that even he would keep the child out without a word to us."
Silvester looked at her shrewdly. That "even he" suggested a train of thought which had been forced upon him more than once latterly.
"Do you think it is wise for Harry to take her out at all, Gabrielle?" he asked. "We treat her as a child, but is she one really? I hope our confidence is not misplaced. We should incur a very grave responsibility if it were."
Gabrielle did not like Maryska, and was hardly one to conceal her prejudices.
"We should never have consented to receive her, father. It was all done in such a hurry; I think we were the victims of our own good nature. Who is she? Where does she come from? A gipsy girl, perhaps, and one who dislikes our country, and us. It was sentiment upon Mr. Faber's part--altruism at our expense. Of course, he talks of taking her ultimately to New York. But is he likely to do that? Do you believe that?"