Part 3 (2/2)
”Hark!” said Belle, softly.
A murmur of voices came from the porch through the low, opened windows.
”It's one of those Armenian lace peddlers,”' said Cora, stooping down to look as she finished making the twist at the back of her head.
”There's been a perfect swarm of them around lately. Mother is talking to her, though she seldom cares for lace--such as they sell.”
”There is some beautiful lace work to be had on some of the West Indian islands, so mamma says,” spoke Belle. ”I am just crazy to get there!”
”Are you going to spend all your time on Porto Rico?” asked Cora, as she finished her hair.
”Well, most of it, though we shall probably cruise about some,” spoke Bess, and as she paused the murmuring of the voices of Mrs. Kimball and the lace peddler could be heard.
”She doesn't talk like an Armenian,” ventured Belle. ”She has a Spanish accent.”
”Yes, so she has,” agreed Cora. ”Oh, girls! You don't know how I envy you that trip. But duty first, you know,” and she sighed.
”We expect to have a perfectly gorgeous time,” went on Belle, as she settled her trim jacket more snugly over her slim hips. ”One trip papa has promised us is to Sea Horse Island, not far from Porto Rico.
He is going there after orchids--you know he is an enthusiastic amateur collector--and he says some very rare ones grow on Sea Horse.
I wish I could send you some, Cora.”
”It's awfully sweet of you, but--”
The girls were interrupted by the darkening of one of the low windows, by a tall, slim shadow. In surprise they looked up to see staring at them a girl whose swarthy, olive-tinted face proclaimed her for a foreigner from some sunny clime.
In her hand she field a bundle of lace, which she had evidently taken from her valise to show to Mrs. Kimball. Cora's mother had arisen from a porch chair, in some wonder, to follow the girl's movements.
”Pardon Senoritas,” began the lace seller, in soft accents, ”but did I hear one of you ladies mention Sea Horse Island--in ze West Indies?
I am not sure--I--”
She paused, painfully self-conscious.
”I spoke of it,” said Belle, gently. ”We are going there on a winter cruise, and--”
”Pardon me--but to Sea Horse Island?” and the girl's trembling voice seemed very eager.
”We are going there--among other places,” put in Bess, and her voice grew rather colder than her sister's, for the manner of the lace seller was pa.s.sing strange.
”--Oh, to Sea Horse Island--in ze West Indies--Oh, if I could but go zere--my father--he is--he is, oh, Senoritas, I crave your pardon, but---but--”
Her voice trailed off in a whisper, and swaying, she fell at the feet of Cora, who sprang forward, but too late, to catch the slim, inanimate burden. The little lace peddler lay in a crumpled up heap on the floor.
CHAPTER IV
JACK ARRIVES
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