Bluebell. Mrs. G. C. Huddleston
was laughing and talking away unreservedly.
"What a strange girl she is!" thought Bertie. "Who would think, to hear her chattering now, she could have made that prim little speech? I must not go on too fast; it reminds me of that Irish girl who said, the first time I squeezed her hand, 'Ah, Captain Du Meresq, but you are such a bould flirt!'"
Sheltered from the bleak wind the walk on the crisp track was enjoyable enough; the "strange eyes," being now on a line with and not confronting her, were less embarrassing, and the slight awe she still felt of him only gave a piquancy to the companionship.
"Are you not very glad we came this way?" Bertie was saying.
"If we had only snow-shoes," cried the breathless Bluebell, for the third time slipping into a drift, but struggling out before Du Meresq could do more than catch her hand.
"Poor little fingers! how cold they are," trying to put them in with his own into his large beaver gloves.
"Oh, I wish you would be sensible," stammered Bluebell, much confused.
"What's the use of being sensible," retorted he, "when it is so much pleasanter being otherwise? Time enough for that when anybody's by."
But Bluebell wrenched her hand away, bringing off the glove, which she threw on the snow.
"Is that a challenge, Miss Bluebell? Must take up the gauntlet? Good gracious, my dear child, you are not really annoyed? Well, we will be sensible, as you call it. Only you must begin; I don't know how."
"Evidently," said Bluebell, very tartly, drawing as far away as the exigencies of the track would admit. She could hold her own well enough with the young subalterns she had hitherto flirted with, but this man was older, and had a bewildering effect on her.
"Are you and Cecil great friends?" asked Bertie, presently, with the air of having forgotten the fracas.
"I hope so," coming out of her offended silence at this neutral topic. "I know I like her well enough."
"And do you tell each other everything, after the manner of young ladies?"
"No-o," said Bluebell, reflectively; "not like the girls at school. You see Cecil is older than I, and cleverer, I suppose, and doesn't talk much nonsense."
"Did she ever speak of me?" asked Bertie.
"Hardly ever; the others have mentioned you often."
"Cecil is a very sensible girl," with a re-assured countenance; "and as you never talk nonsense, I suppose you won't mention the trivial fact of our having taken this walk?"
"Why in the world not?" opening her large violet eyes full upon him.
"'Speech is silver, but silence is golden,' you unsophisticated child," returned he, enigmatically.
Bluebell considered. "Why, of course, I shall tell Mrs. Rolleston what made me so late."
"But not if she doesn't ask you?"
"But why not? There is no harm in it," said the girl, persistently.
"No, no; but if you had lived as long as I, you would know that people always try and interfere with anything pleasant. I should so like to take this walk with you every week, Bluebell."
Bluebell looked down; she was vaguely flattered by his caring to repeat the walk which she thought must be so unimportant to him—it would be something to look forward to, for she had enjoyed it, though she could not tell why.
"But, Captain Du Meresq—" she began.
"Call me Bertie, when we are alone," said he.
They had entered on the street, Bluebell was wavering, but the last sentence, "when we are alone," struck her ear unpleasantly.
"How can I?" said she; "I do not know you well enough."
"Walk with me sometimes," whispered Bertie, "and that reason will disappear, but don't say a word about it to-day, there's a dear girl. I had better make tracks for the club; you will be at home in five minutes,"—and Du Meresq ceremoniously lifted his cap, for many eyes were about, and disappeared down another block.
Bluebell on finding herself alone, went through a disagreeable reaction. It was certainly only a few yards to her destination; but it was annoying to be left so abruptly, and an air of secrecy thrown over her actions too. Did she like him, or hate him? She could not determine; her fancy and her vanity were both touched, doubtless; then, remembering Miss Opie's exhortations, a gleam of fun twinkled in her eyes as she thought of what her horror would have been at Bertie's affectionate ease of manner.
All the same she crept into the house, feeling very underhand and uncomfortable. None of the party had returned, so reprieved for the present she went up to the nursery.
Freddy was roaring on his back, he had just thrown "Peep-of-Day" at the nurse's head, which had been unwisely offered to him as a substitute for his favourite trumpet, when its excruciating blasts become too unbearable.
"Oh, I'm sure I'm glad you have come back, miss, for I don't know how to abide that wearyin' child, as don't know what a whipping is. Here's your governess, sir, as will put you in the corner."
"Hold your tongue, you fool!" cried Freddy with supreme contempt.
The suaviter in modo was, indeed, the only treatment allowed in that nursery. Bluebell retreated with a highly-coloured scrap-book to the window, which she feigned complete absorption in. Freddy glanced at it out of the tail of his eye.
"Show me that, Boobell."
"I don't know, Freddy," said the girl, feeling some slight moral coercion incumbent on her. "Do you think you will call nurse a fool again?"
"She shouldn't bother," said the infant, confidentially, climbing into her lap, but declining to commit himself to any pledges of good behaviour. "Show me the book."
Half-an-hour after, Mrs. Rolleston looking in, saw a pretty little picture—the old nurse was nodding in a rocking-chair. Bluebell's fair young face was bending over Freddy, seated on her lap, with as arm round her neck, his cherubic visage beaming with interest as he listened to the classic tale of "Three Wishes." It was easier to her to continue the recital, while a dread of being questioned prevented her looking up.
"Bluebell is telling Freddy such a beautiful fairy story," said Mrs. Rolleston, to some one who had followed her to the nursery.
"I wish she would tell fairy stories to me," said Bertie.
CHAPTER VI.
VISITORS.
In aught that from me lures thine eyes
My jealousy has trial;
The lightest cloud across the skies
Has darkness for the dial.
Lord Lytton.
Bluebell had no difficulty in preserving silence about the Sunday's escapade. It never occurred to Mrs. Rolleston to enquire what time she had returned, and an evasive answer to Cecil was all that it entailed. But she was very much perplexed by the change in Captain Du Meresq's manner. The cold civility recommended by Miss Opie seemed all on his side. Nothing but good-humoured indifference was apparent in his manner. Their acquaintance did not seem to have progressed further than the first evening; indeed, it had rather retrograded; and she could almost imagine she had dreamt the tender speeches he had lavished on her in the Humber woods.
Cecil and he were out sleighing most afternoons, and Bluebell was thrown on nursery and school-room