“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.”

CHAPTER X.

TOBOGGINING.

We are in love’s land to-day. 
Where shall we go? 
Love, shall we start or stay? 
Or sail—­or row? 
—­Swinburne.

Bluebell thought that now Mrs. Rolleston had detected her secret, there was no necessity to keep it from Cecil.  They were in the habit of sitting awhile, talking over their bed-room fire at night; and, though, of late, they had scarcely been so intimate, the practice had not been discontinued.  So that evening she resolved to approach the subject with Cecil.  No doubt she would stand her friend, and be, as ever, generous and sympathetic.

But, at the first outset, no icicle could be brighter and colder than Miss Rolleston’s manner, who kept her communication at arm’s-length, as it were, and refused to see any hardship in paying a filial visit for a week or two.

“My dear Bluebell, you are really too childish.  One would think it was to be an eternal separation.”

“It is evident you will not miss me much,” said poor Bluebell, wounded, and thankful she had not committed herself further.

“I should if Bertie were not here,” answered Cecil, with heartless intention.  “But I really think this is the best time for you to be away, for I am out so much with him, I see nothing of you.  When he is gone, Bluebell, and you have returned, we must begin to sing and read together, as we used to do.”  This agreeable speech effectually quenched all revelations on Bluebell’s side, who, hurt and offended, took up a candle and retired to her inner apartment.

“They are all alike,” she thought; “and Bertie understood the matter better than I did.  Now, I suppose, they will try and prevent me ever seeing him again.  Girls in novels think it necessary to give up their lovers if the family disapprove; the book always gets very dull then; but Bertie has never yet given me the chance to act the high-minded heroine.”  And then she fell to wondering why he had not said something really definite, he seemed near it so often.  And yet he was his own master; no stern father loomed in the background—­that Bluebell would have considered a possible obstacle,—­for had she not seen such malign influence destroy more than one promising love affair among her companions.  Of course there was no solution to such an inscrutable mystery, though Bluebell tossed awake half the night in the effort to find one.