lags waved, the band struck up, and the boat moved quickly
away down, the stream.

Mrs. Bellairs, relieved from her watch, had sunk into a chair placed on
deck, and sent her husband to bring the truants. Maurice remained beside
her, and when the rest of the group had a little separated, he bent down
and said to her,

"Dear Mrs. Bellairs, don't scold Lucia if the delay is her fault. She
had some objection to leaving her mother to-day, and even wanted me to
excuse her to you."

"She is a spoiled child," was the answer. "But, however, I will forgive
her this once for your sake."

Mr. Percy certainly had not _listened_, but as certainly he had heard
this short dialogue. He was rather bored; he did not find Cacouna very
amusing, and had not yet found even that last resource of idle men--a
woman to flirt with. He was in the very mood to be tempted by anything
that promised the slightest distraction, and there was undeniably
something irritating in the idea of there being in the neighbourhood one
sole and unapproachable beauty, and of that one being given up by
common consent to a boy, a mere Canadian boor! Of course he could not
understand that no one else could have seen this matter in the light he
did; that everybody, or nearly everybody, thought of Maurice and Lucia
as near neighbours and old playfellows, and no more. So he felt a very
slight stir of indignation, which, in the dearth of other sensations,
was not disagreeable. But then probably the girl was quite over-praised;
no beauty at all, in fact. People in these outlandish places did not
appreciate anything beyond prettiness. "Here she comes."

He almost said the words aloud as Mr. Bellairs brought her forward, but
instantly felt disgusted with himself, and stepped back, almost
determined not to look at her at all; yet, after all, he was positively
curious, and then he must look at her by-and-by. Too late now,--she was
talking to Maurice,--always Maurice,--and had her back completely
turned; there was nothing visible but the outline of a tall slight
figure. "Not ungraceful, certainly; but Mrs. Bellairs is graceful, and
Miss Latour not bad; it must be walking so much. What a gorilla that
fellow looks! The women here are decidedly better than the men."

His soliloquy stopped short. Lucia had turned to look at something, and
their eyes met. A most lovely crimson flush rushed to her cheeks, and
gave her face the only beauty it generally wanted; she instantly turned