Harriet Brandt had not been many days in Heyst before the Baroness had become jealous of the attention which she paid Mrs. Pullen and her child. She saw that the girl was attractive, she heard that she was rich, and she liked to have pretty and pleasant young people about her when at home--they drew men to the house and reflected a sort of credit upon herself--and she determined to get Harriet away from Margaret Pullen and chain her to her own side instead. The Baroness hated Miss Leyton quite as much as Elinor hated her. She was quick of hearing and very intuitive--she had caught more than one of the young lady’s uncomplimentary remarks upon herself, and had divined still more than she had heard. She had observed her sympathy with Bobby also, and that she encouraged him in his boyish rebellion. For all these reasons, she “had her knife” into Miss Leyton, and was waiting her opportunity to turn it. And she foresaw--with the assistance perhaps of the Powers of Darkness, of whose acquaintance she was so proud--that she would be enabled to take her revenge on Elinor Leyton through Harriet Brandt. But her first advances to the latter were suavity itself. She was not going to frighten the girl by shewing her claws, until she had stroked her down the right way with her _pattes de velours_. She came upon her one morning, as she sat upon the sands, with little Ethel in her arms. The nurse was within speaking distance, busy with her needlework, and the infant seemed so quiet with Miss Brandt and she took such evident pleasure in nursing it, that Mrs. Pullen no longer minded leaving them together, and had gone for a stroll with Miss Leyton along the Digue. So the Baroness found Harriet, comparatively speaking, alone. “So you’re playing at nursemaid again!” she commenced in her abrupt manner. “You seem to have taken a wonderful fancy to that child!” “She is such a good little creature,” replied Harriet, “she is no trouble whatever. She sleeps half the day!” Miss Brandt had a large box of chocolates beside her, into which she continually dipped her hand. Her mouth, too, was stained with the delicate sweetmeat--she was always eating, either fruit or bonbons. She handed the box now, with a timid air, to the Baroness. “Do you care for chocolate, Madame?” she asked. The Baroness did not like to be called “Madame” according to the French fashion. She thought it derogated from her dignity. She wished everyone to address her as “my lady,” and considered she was cheated out of her rights when it was omitted. But she liked chocolate almost as well as Harriet did.