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Britta's worldly prognostications had come true, the simple gowns her mistress had worn at the Altenfjord were soon discarded for more costly apparel, though Sir Philip had an affection for his wife's Norwegian costumes, and in his heart thought they were as pretty, if not prettier, than the most perfect triumphs of a Parisian modiste.
Tell me, poor soul!" and she turned with queenly forbearance to Lovisa, "is it for Britta's sake that you would burn the house she lives in? That is not wise! You cursed me the other day, and why? What have I done that you should hate me?" The old woman regarded her with steadfast, cruel eyes. "You are your mother's child!" she said. "I hated her I hate you!
This frank statement of Britta's views presented such a new form of doctrine to Ulrika's heavy mind that she was almost appalled by it. God couldn't burn anybody for ever He was too good! What a daring idea! And yet so consoling so wonderful in the infinite prospect of hope it offered, that she smiled, even while she trembled to contemplate it. Poor soul!
Britta's rosy cheeks grew rosier at this, and she tossed her chestnut curls with an air of saucy defiance that delighted the Frenchman. He forgot his wounded cheek and his disfiguring bandages in the contemplation of the little plump figure, cased in its close-fitting scarlet bodice, and the tempting rosy lips that were in such close proximity to his touch.
Ulrika paused then, as no one uttered a word, she looked up boldly, and spoke with a sort of desperate determination. "You see you have nothing to thank me for," she went on, addressing herself to Sir Philip, while Thelma, leaning back on her pillows, and holding Britta's hand, regarded her with a new and amazed interest.
And gently sauntering by Britta's side, Briggs began to converse in low and confidential tones, she listened with strained and eager attention, and she was soon receiving information that startled her and set her on the alert. Talk of private detectives and secret service!
Her only daughter's husband went down in the same storm, and he but three months wedded, and the girl, Britta's mother, pined and pined, and even when her child was born took no sort of comfort in it.
"Has he gone?" demanded Thelma eagerly. Britta's wonder increased. "Yes, Froeken!" Thelma caught her arm. "Tell Morris never, never to let him inside the house again never!" and her blue eyes flashed wrathfully. "He is a wicked man, Britta! You do not know how wicked he is!" "Oh yes, I do!" and Britta regarded her mistress very steadfastly. "I know quite well! But, then, I must not speak!
"You may take your oath of that, Miss Britta," he said with placid conviction. "Jealous! Jealous isn't the word for it! Why," and he surveyed Britta's youthful countenance with fatherly interest, "you're only a child as it were, and you don't know the world much. Now, I've been five and twenty years in this family, and I knew Sir Philip's mother, the Lady Eulalie he named his yacht after her.
But I won't complain, my my dear gal one day you'll know me better!" He stopped and looked at her very intently. "Miss Britta," he said abruptly, "you've a great affection for your lady, 'aven't you?" Instantly Britta's face flushed, and she was all attention. "Yes, indeed!" she answered quickly. "Why do you ask, Mr. Briggs?" Briggs rubbed his nose perplexedly.
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