CONFIDENCE
last; and he accompanied this declaration with a laugh much more spontaneous than the one he had given a few moments before.
It might have gratified him, however, to observe that his companion appeared to see no ground for joking in the idea that they should have a good deal to say to each other.
"Yes; it's a long time since we spent those pleasant weeks at Baden," she rejoined. "Have you been there again?"
This was a question, and though it was a very simple one, Bernard was charmed with it.
"I wouldn't go back for the world!" he said. "And you?"
"Would I go back? Oh yes; I thought it so agreeable."
With this he was less pleased; he had expected the traces of resentment, and he was actually disappointed at not finding them. But here was the little house of which his companion had spoken, and it seemed, indeed, a rather bad one. That is, it was one of those diminutive structures which are known at French watering-places as "chalets," and, with an exiguity of furniture, are let for the season to families that pride themselves upon their powers of contraction. This one was a very humble specimen of its class, though it was doubtless a not inadequate abode for two quiet and frugal women. It had a few inches of garden, and there were flowers in pots in the open windows, where some extremely fresh white curtains were gently fluttering in the breath of the neighbouring ocean. The little door stood wide open.
"This is where we live," said Angela; and she stopped and laid her hand upon the garden gate.
"It's very nice," said Bernard. "I think it's better than the pastry-cook's at Baden."
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