“But her teeth,” argued Elinor Leyton, “surely her teeth account for everything! I know my sister, Lady Armisdale, says that nothing varies so quickly as teething children--that they’re at the point of death one hour and quite well the next, and she has five, so she ought to know!” “That’s quite right, Miss,” interposed the nurse, respectfully, “and you can hardly expect the dear child to be lively when she’s in pain. She has a little fever on her too! If she were awake, she would only be fretful! I am sure that the best medicine for her is sleep!” “You hear what Nurse says, Margaret, but if you are nervous, why not send for a doctor to see her! We can ask Madame Lamont as we go downstairs who is the best here, and call on him as we go to the station, or we can telegraph to Bruges for one, if you think it would be better!” “O! no! no! I will not be foolish! I will try and believe that you and Nurse know better than myself. I will wait at all events until to-morrow.” “Where has baby been this morning?” “She was with Miss Brandt on the sands, Miss!” replied the nurse. “Since you are so anxious about Ethel, Margaret, I really wonder that you should trust her with a stranger like Miss Brandt! Perhaps she let the sun beat on her head.” “O! no, Elinor, Nurse was with them all the time. I would not let Miss Brandt or anyone take baby away alone. But she is so good-natured and so anxious to have her, that I don’t quite know how to refuse.” “Perhaps she has been stuffing the child with some of her horrid chocolates or caramels. She is gorging them all day long herself!” “I know my duty too well for that, Miss!” said the nurse resentfully, “I wouldn’t have allowed it! The dear baby did not have anything to eat at all.” “Well! you’re both on _her_ side evidently, so I will say no more,” concluded Miss Leyton, “At the same time if _I_ had a child, I’d sooner trust it to a wild beast than the tender mercies of Miss Brandt. But it’s past four o’clock, Margaret! If we are to reach the _entrepôt_ in time we must be going!” Mrs. Pullen hastily assumed her hat and mantle, and prepared to accompany her friend. They had opened the door, and were about to leave the room when a flood of melody suddenly poured into the apartment. It proceeded from a room at the other end of the corridor and was produced by a mandoline most skilfully played. The silvery notes in rills and trills and chords, such as might have been evolved from a fairy harp, arrested the attention of both Miss Leyton and Mrs. Pullen. They had scarcely expressed their wonder and admiration to each other, at the skilful manipulation of the instrument (which evinced such art as they had never heard before except in public) when the strings of the mandoline were accompanied by a young, fresh contralto voice.