Bluebell. Mrs. G. C. Huddleston
there are the chaperones, poor things, round whom no "lovers are sighing," and, perhaps, supper is the liveliest time to them—old gentlemen, too, might be allowed some indulgence; but what can be said for dancing men, wasting the precious moments of their partners, while they linger congregated together among the débris and champagne-corks?
"What a clearance," said Bluebell, subsiding, with a fagged air, on to a sofa, as her partner bowed himself off with an eye to business.
"Forward the heavy brigade," said Bertie, motioning to his brother-in-law bearing off Lady Hampshire; "only room for thirty at a time. We must wait, Miss Leigh."
"I am ready to wait. But what have 'we' got to say to it?" said Bluebell, with her Canadian directness.
"Don't speak so unkindly," said Bertie, sentimentally, flinging himself on the sofa by her side. "You don't know all I have suffered this week."
"You certainly disguised it very well," said the girl, with total disbelief in her eyes.
"Do you think I felt nothing when I saw you all day with Vavasour, who every one knows is madly in love with you; and then dancing every dance—not leaving a corner in your programme for me?"
"You didn't ask me," said Bluebell, less austerely.
"No, for you never so much as looked my way. Besides, Bluebell, I told you we must be careful. If Colonel Rolleston guessed my feelings for you—he is so selfish, he forgets he has been young himself—I should be no longer welcome here."
"Then, I am sure," said Bluebell, the tears rushing to her eyes, "I wish you had never come. I have been miserable ever since I took that stupid walk, which you prevented my mentioning; and—and—"
"Let's be miserable again next Sunday, Bluebell," whispered Bertie.
"I shall not go home; or, if I do, I'll stop there. I'll never walk with you again, Captain Du Meresq."
"'Quoth the raven, "never more!"' I know what it is, you are tired to death. Sit still on the sofa and I will bring you some supper; sleighing all day and dancing all night have distorted your mental vision,"—and Bertie dashed off, passing the young lady he was engaged to on his way to the supper room, with an inward conviction that their dance must be about due. Having possessed himself of a modicum of prairie hen, he intercepted a tumbler of champagne cup just being handed across the table to Captain Delamere.
"Confound it, that's mine!" said the aggrieved individual.
"I want it for a lady," urged Bertie.
"So do I," said Delamere.
"My dear fellow," said Bertie, chaffingly, nodding towards a gorgeous American, "it is for Mrs. Commissioner Duloe. She must not be kept waiting."
"I won't allow my lady to be second to any lady in the room," cried Delamere who was elevated.
Bertie was in too great a hurry to chaff Delamere any longer, for, perceiving that his relatives were safely at supper, he resolved to make the most of the few minutes at his disposal, and, as he would have expressed it, "lay it on thick."
Bluebell was leaning languidly back on the sofa, watching the forms of the dancers, ever revolving past the open door to the strains of a heart-broken valse. (En passant, why are the prettiest valses all plaintive and despairing, quadrilles and lancers cheerful and jiggy, and galops reckless, not to say tipsy?)
Bertie, with his spoils, was by her side, and, having restored her nerves with champagne, proceeded to agitate them again with the warmest protestations of affection. The child with the day's experience before her, only half-believed him, but the spirit of coquetry woke up, and she resolved to try and make him care for her as much as he pretended to do.
But Bluebell was trying her 'prentice hand with a veteran in such warfare.
They were alone in the little room, in one adjoining a few people were sitting.
"I wish that girl would not watch us so," said Bluebell, indicating one apparently deep in a photograph book, under cover of which she was furtively observing them.
"Oh," said Bertie, with a groan, "she's been following me about ever since I asked her for a dance six off. I hope it is over."
"I dare say she's very angry at being left sitting out," said Bluebell. "I am sure I should be."
"Ah," said Bertie, "your experience will be all the other way—it's us poor fellows who will be thrown over, besides, she shouldn't have got introduced to me. I saw her going on the wrong leg and all out of step, and Jack Vavasour says she's a regular stick-in-the-mud to talk to."
A stream now issued from the supper room, and Mr. Vavasour, bowing himself free from a "comfortable" looking matron, hurried up.
"Our dance, Miss Leigh. I thought I should never be in time. She was twenty minutes at the chicken and lobster-salad, and then went in for sweets."
"I must go and give my girl a turn, I suppose," whispered Bertie. "She's guarding the outposts so no chance of giving her the slip. She'd go raging off to the Colonel. Just like him, letting one in for such a real bad thing."
A few sleighs were beginning to jingle up, but most of the girls assumed moccasins, clouds, and furs, and kilting their petticoats as deftly and mysteriously as only Canadians can, set out in parties, escorted by their partners, and stepped briskly over the moon lit snow to their respective dwellings.
Bertie saw his party off in their sleigh, tenderly squeezing Bluebell's hand, who fell to his share, but did not return with them. Indeed, he was walking soon in quite an opposite direction, by the side of a shrouded figure in a rose-coloured cloud, out of which laughed the mischievous eyes of the second Miss Tremaine.
CHAPTER IX.
CROSS PURPOSES.
Trifles, light as air,
Are to the jealous confirmation strong
As proofs of holy writ.
Shakespeare.
Bluebell had not visited her mother for three weeks. One Saturday Freddy had a sore throat and would not let her out of his sight, keeping up an incessant demand for black-currant jelly and fairy tales, and the next week a heavy fall of snow made walking impossible. She now very often shared the gaieties of the others. Mrs. Rolleston took great interest in Bluebell's career. She thought it by no means improbable that Sir Timothy should have provided for her in his will, or, indeed, that he might any day acknowledge her; and though she took her out, and let her dance to her heart's content, kept faithful watch to prevent any undesirable flirtation.
So the kind-hearted lady was a good deal disturbed at seeing Jack Vavasour, who came of an extravagant and far from wealthy family, first in the field. After the manner of love-lorn subalterns, he haunted and persecuted the fair object of his affections, who cared nothing about him, and treated him as a child does its toys, sometimes pleased with them, and at others casting them indifferently aside.
And all the time Bertie was gaining greater influence over her. But even Cecil, whose eyes were keen, was never able to detect any evidence of a secret understanding between them.
He regularly asked her for one valse only when they went to balls; indeed, he could not do less. Cecil, of course, could not hear what they talked about then.
There is a dreamy, intoxicating valse of Gung'l's, which he always made her keep for him when it was played. It was a small piece of selfish romance, for well he knew that charmed air would ever hereafter be haunted with associations of him. How many more "stolen sweet moments" he found