Bluebell - Mrs. G. C. Huddleston

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good hold of his head, sir?" to the groom.

      "Quite correct, 'm," grinned that official. "Quiet, 'Nancy,'" that being the stable version of "Banshee."

      "Let her go," said Jack, who had just tucked Mrs. Leigh in. A couple of bounds, a smothering scream, and they disappeared in the evening gloom.

      "That there old party ain't the guvener's usual form," meditated that bât-man, as he walked back, for the cutter only carried two. "He seems to set a deal of store by her, though. There's some young 'ooman at home, where she lives, I'd take my dying dick."

      Cecil and her father, who had seen them off, stopped laughing together at Mrs. Leigh's peculiarities; and Bluebell, finding herself alone with Mrs. Rolleston, felt impelled to try if she could not curtail her sentence of banishment. Of course, her words were intended to conceal her thoughts—love's first lesson is always hypocrisy.

      "I know I am not very much use here," she began, "but still I shouldn't like to think I was of none, and, therefore, I really don't want to stay away more than a day or two."

      A sudden look of penetration came into Mrs. Rolleston's face, and, with more sarcasm in her voice than Bluebell's little speech appeared to justify, she said—

      "My dear, scrupulous child, we can get on without you longer than that, so you may, with a clear conscience, think of your mother, who is dull this dreadful weather."

      Bluebell felt caught in a mesh and incapable of extricating herself, but she made no attempt to conceal her reluctance to going.

      "How long must I stay away?" said she, dolefully.

      "Just till the days get a little longer—a fortnight or three weeks, perhaps."

      Bluebell made a gesture of despair (Bertie would be gone to a certainty by then), and looked the picture of misery. Mrs. Rolleston's suspicions were now convictions.

      "My dear Bluebell," she began, impulsively, "I know there's some reason for your dislike to going," and she gazed fixedly at her. No denial. Bluebell hoped Mrs. Rolleston had some inkling of how things were with her and Bertie, and had she then persisted might easily have forced her confidence; which would have considerably enlightened and dismayed the elder lady, whose mind, being full of Jack, had never dreamed of Bertie.

      Mrs. Rolleston, however, rapidly decided it would never do to encourage her to talk of the matter, and that she had better put her foot on it at once.

      "I have guessed your little penchant, dear, for some one we won't talk about, for indeed, Bluebell, it never can come to any thing; you are both too young and too poor. It would be a most undesirable connexion."

      "She doesn't think me grand enough for her brother," suggested Bluebell's wounded pride.

      "And, therefore," pursued her Mentor, "absence is the best thing in these cases; and when you come back I trust you will have got rid of such hopeless fancies."

      Bluebell was deeply mortified—she lost all expectation of sympathy, and with a touch of pride, said—"You must know best, Mrs. Rolleston, but I shall never care for any one else; and I must tell you honestly, I can't give it up if he doesn't."

      "You will not see him at home?" said the elder lady, hastily. Such a gleam of hope irradiated Bluebell's face; she had never thought of that.

      "Dear me, this is too bad!" continued the other, quite disheartened. "I shall take care you have no more opportunities of meeting here. Bluebell, do be warned. I only speak for your good."

      "How self-interest deceives one," moralized the girl; "it is only because I am, as she says, 'a most undesirable connexion for her brother!'"

      Cecil entered at this juncture, and Bluebell, hearing the Colonel's step also approaching, made a hasty escape from the room.

      "What is the matter with her?" asked Cecil. "She brushed by me so suddenly, and looked so strange."

      "Nearly knocked me over," said the Colonel, who had caught the last words.

      "Don't notice it; I am afraid Bluebell has lost her heart to young Vavasour; and she is miserable at going home, because she thinks she will not see him."

      "I am delighted you have put a stop to that folly," said the Colonel; "that boy dawdles over here every afternoon. I can't have Miss Bluebell's 'followers' everlastingly caterwauling in my house."

      An expression of extreme astonishment came over Cecil's face.

      "Bluebell doesn't care in the least for Jack Vavasour," said she.

      "You are evidently not in her confidence. She told me 'she should never care for any one else'—her very words, the little goose."

      Cecil seemed lost in perplexity. "And she doesn't want to go home?" asked she in a bewildered manner.

      "Crying her eyes out at this moment I dare say."

      "Then for goodness sake let her go home, and stay there till she is better," said the Colonel, irritably. "A love lorn young lady perpetually before me I cannot and will not endure."

      His daughter's brow was knitted with thought. Bluebell was evidently in distress at going, but that it had any reference to Jack she totally disbelieved. A latent suspicion revived, and her face grew pained and hard. It was near dinner time, but, instead of going up to dress, she turned into a little smoking room to ponder it out. What motive could Bluebell have had to avow a perfectly fictitious love affair with Vavasour, unless it was to throw dust in Mrs. Rolleston's eyes and blind her to, perhaps, some underhand flirtation with Bertie? Cecil's affection for her friend received a severe wrench directly she admitted such a possibility, and then, as she meditated, two or three incidents, too slight to be noticed at the time, rose up to confirm it.

      "Forewarned, forearmed, if that is your game, Miss Bluebell," thought she, resolving for the future to watch narrowly. At this moment Du Meresq, whistling 'Ah, che la morte,' burst into the room.

      "Cecil here, all in the dark? Light a candle, there's a good girl, I want my cigar case. I'm awfully late".

      "Who is the Leonore you are whistling addio to?" said she complying.

      "I don't know, the air is running in my head."

      "I thought it might be Bluebell, she is going to-morrow."

      The match went out, so she could not see the expression of Bertie's face.

      "How do you mean?" said he quietly.

      "They think Lubin destructive to her peace of mind, so she is to go home for a fortnight. Singular idea, isn't it."

      "Bosh!" said Du Meresq, emphatically. "Well, I'm off. Good-night, Cecil."

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