. Vavasour."

Jack liked Cecil very much; but he only bowed gloomily, and placing
Bluebell in her canoe, disappeared, as might be inferred, to Fane; though
afterwards that gentleman bitterly complained that he had, on returning
home,--after waiting, to his great inconvenience, an hour or more,
anathematizing Jack,--found that he had walked back to barracks totally
oblivious of his companion.

Bluebell's return drive was far from a peaceful one. Lilla, it is true,
abstained from remarks before the children; but there was no escaping her
provokingly wicked glances, which argued ill for her future discretion.

Cecil, on the contrary, was unusually suave and considerate to Bluebell,
and had rather the air of shielding her from Lilla; which would have been
less incomprehensible had she known that in the interval of disembarking
and entering the waggonette, Cecil had been made a participator in that
malicious damsel's discovery.

At bed-time, Miss Rolleston, contrary to her wont, entered Bluebell's
room, hair-brush in hand, as if disposed for a cozy confab. But that
employment, so provocative of feminine disclosures, appeared futile this
night, and the raven and chestnut coils were brushed to the sheen of a
bird's wing ere Cecil had discovered what she had come for.

At last, under cover of lighting her candle, she said, with a disarming
smile,--"You are very reserved, Bluebell. May I guess what Lubin said to
you in the Humber, to-day?"

"I dare say you can," said the other, simply. "He will forget all about
it soon, I trust."

"Do you mean you gave him no hope?" a suspicion of Lilla's veracity
mingling with her disappointment.

"Certainly not," with great energy.

"But why?" asked Cecil, with asperity.

Bluebell turned her melancholy eyes full upon her, and the two rivals
gazed steadily at each other. Then Cecil's head was impatiently flung
back, her level eyebrows went down, and, without further remark, she
rose and left the room.

CHAPTER XVII.

DID YOU PROPOSE THEN?

A lover came riding by a while;
A wealthy lover was he, whose smile
Some maids would value greatly.
--More Bad Ballads.

The summer had not been a very gay one. The heat was so intense as to
throw languour on the garden and croquet-parties, which replaced the
winter balls and sleigh drives. Thunder was in the air, and growled and
muttered around; but the joyfully-hailed clouds floated away without
affording