“I left Fane further down the river,” said he; “and Miss Leigh and I sat listening to the—­bull-frogs.”  Here Jack cast a look half-imploring, half-furious, at Lilla, who had assumed a most Quakerish expression, and hummed the air, “A frog he would a wooing go.”

“Well, get in Bluebell,” said Cecil, smiling; “we are going home now.  Come and see us soon, Mr. 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.