.

"We must walk very quick, then."

"Run, if you like. Come along, there's a dear child."

Bluebell coloured furiously.

"Maybe I won't go at all now!"

"That is so like a girl," said Bertie impatiently; "standing coquetting
in the cold. Now, you are offended. What did I say? Only called you a
child."

"You had no business to speak so," said Bluebell, angry at his familiar
manner, but rather at a loss for words. "Why can't you call me Miss
Leigh, like everybody else?" and the indignant little beauty paused,
with hot cheeks, and feeling desperately awkward.

Du Meresq bit his lip to hide a smile. He was half afraid she would dash
off and terminate the interview.

"Dear me!" said he. "When you are a little older you will think youth a
very good fault. Will you forgive me this once, Miss Leigh, and I will
not call you anything else?--for the present" (_sotto voce_).

Bluebell was mollified, and rather proud of the good effects of her
reproof, notwithstanding the half-inaudible rider. Du Meresq, also,
was satisfied, for, without further opposition, they had struck into
the wood. Unused to the Britannic hamper of a chaperone, Bluebell saw
nothing singular in the proceeding. So they crunched over the snow,
keeping, as far as possible, the dazzling track marked by the wheels
of the sleigh-waggons, and plentifully powdered by the snow-laden trees;
now up to their knees in a drift, from which Bertie had the pleasure of
extricating his companion, who forgot her shyness in the difficulties of
the path, and, not being given to silence, 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 t