Part 31 (2/2)

Alex was disgusted at the ease with which Barbara, hitherto shy and tongue-tied in the presence of her parents, chattered lightly to them on the evening of her return, and offered--actually offered unasked!--to sing them some of her new songs. ”New songs” indeed, when it was only a year ago that she had written to ask whether she might have a few singing lessons with the Marquise's daughter! But neither Sir Francis nor Lady Isabel rebuked her temerity, and they even exchanged amused, approving glances when the slim, upright figure moved lightly across the room to the big grand piano.

Alex, in her pink evening dress, with her elaborately-coiled hair, felt infinitely childish and awkward as she watched Barbara slip off a new gold bangle from her little white, rounded wrist, and strike a couple of chords with perfect self-a.s.surance.

She was going to play without music! It was absurd; Barbara had never been musical.

Certainly the voice in which she sang a couple of little French _ballades_, was a very tiny one, but there was a tunefulness, above all, a vivacity, about her whole performance which caused even Sir Francis to break into unwonted applause at the finish. Alex applauded too, princ.i.p.ally from the desire to prove to herself that it would be impossible for _her_ ever to feel jealous of little Barbara.

When they had sent her to bed, Lady Isabel laughed with more animation than she often displayed.

”How the child has developed!”

”Charming, charming!” said Sir Francis. ”We must show her something of the world, I think, even if she is rather young.”

But it soon became evident, to Alex, at least, that Barbara had not been without glimpses of the world, even at Neuilly. She listened with interest, but very coolly, to Alex' attempted confidences, and finally said, ”Well, I can't imagine how you could have borne to give up the diamond ring, and it would have been fun to get married and have a trousseau and a house of your own. But I don't think Noel would make much of a husband.”

The calm disparagement in her tone annoyed Alex. It seemed to rob her solitary conquest of any lingering trace of glory.

”I don't think you know very much about it,” she said rather scathingly.

”You haven't met any men at all, naturally, so how can you judge?”

Barbara laughed.

Something of security that would not even take the trouble to dispute the point, pierced through that cool, self-confident little laugh of hers.

Later on, she told Alex, with rather overdone matter-of-factness, that a young Frenchman, a cousin of Helene de la Hautefeuille, had fallen very much in love with her at Neuilly.

Alex at first pretended not to believe her, although she felt an uncomfortable inward certainty that Barbara would never waste words on an idle boast that could not be substantiated.

”You need not believe me if you don't want to,” said Barbara indifferently.

”But how could you _know_? I thought the Marquise was so particular?”

”So she was. They all are, in France, with _jeunes filles_. It's ridiculous. But, of course, as Helene was his cousin, they weren't quite so strict, and he used to give her notes and things for me.”

”Barbara!”

”You needn't be so shocked, Alex. Of course, _I_ never wrote to _him_--that would have been too stupid; but he's very nice, and simply madly in love with me. Helene said he always admired _le type Anglais_, and that I was his ideal.”

Alex was thoroughly angered at the complacency in Barbara's voice.

”You and Helene are two silly, vulgar, little schoolgirls. I didn't think you could be so--so common, Barbara. What on earth would father and mother say?”

”I daresay they wouldn't mind so very much,” said Barbara calmly, ”so long as they didn't know about the notes and our having met once or twice in the garden.”

”I don't believe it!” exclaimed Alex. ”You think it sounds grown-up, and so you're exaggerating the whole thing.”

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