CONFIDENCE
Longueville had begun to take his friend's dilemma very seriously indeed. The girl was certainly a curious study.
The evening drew to a close, and the crowd of Bernard's fellow-loungers dispersed. The lighted windows of the Kursaal still glittered in the fragrant dusk, and the lamps along the terrace had not been extinguished; but the great promenade was almost deserted; here and there only a lingering couple—the red tip of a cigar and the vague radiance of a light dress—gave animation to the place. Yet Bernard sat there still in his tilted chair, beneath his orange-tree; his imagination had wandered very far, and he was awaiting its return to the fold. He was on the point of rising, however, when he saw three figures come down the empty vista of the terrace—figures which even at a distance had a familiar air. He immediately left his seat and, taking a dozen steps, recognised Angela Vivian, Blanche Evers, and Captain Lovelock. In a moment he met them in the middle of the terrace.
Blanche immediately announced that they had come for a midnight walk.
"And if you think it's improper," she exclaimed, "it's not my invention—it's Miss Vivian's."
"I beg pardon—it's mine," said Captain Lovelock. "I desire the credit of it. I started the idea; you never would have come without me."
"I think it would have been more proper to come without you than with you," Blanche declared. "You know you're a dreadful character."
"I'm much worse when I'm away from you than when I'm with you," said Lovelock. "You keep me in order."
The young girl gave a little cry.
"I don't know what you call order! You can't be worse than you have been to-night."
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