o 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