So the kind-hearted lady was a good deal disturbed at seeing Jack Vavasour, who came of an extravagant and far from wealthy family, first in the field.  After the manner of love-lorn subalterns, he haunted and persecuted the fair object of his affections, who cared nothing about him, and treated him as a child does its toys, sometimes pleased with them, and at others casting them indifferently aside.

And all the time Bertie was gaining greater influence over her.  But even Cecil, whose eyes were keen, was never able to detect any evidence of a secret understanding between them.

He regularly asked her for one valse only when they went to balls; indeed, he could not do less.  Cecil, of course, could not hear what they talked about then.

There is a dreamy, intoxicating valse of Gung’l’s, which he always made her keep for him when it was played.  It was a small piece of selfish romance, for well he knew that charmed air would ever hereafter be haunted with associations of him.  How many more “stolen sweet moments” he found in the day must be left to the reader’s imagination.  But stolen they were; for Du Meresq knew Cecil’s disposition, and was far from wishing to break with her, though “why should he spare this little girl with the chestnut hair, and the love in her deep-blue eyes?” And Bluebell no longer shrank from being underhand.  It did not strike her in that light now.  She thought of nothing but Bertie, who was so different before the others, that she learnt to look forward to their brief chances of being alone as much as he did.  And Du Meresq, with ingenious sophistry, expatiated on the charm of keeping their delicious secret to themselves, uncommented on by the cold and unsympathetic.

Thus Bluebell, from being a lively, ingenuous, outspoken child, altered into a dreamy maiden, living a hidden life of repressed excitement, whose whole interest was the fugitive, uncertain interviews with Bertie, and an interchanged glance, touch of the hand, or few fond words, ventured on when the others were not attending.

“Bluebell,” laughed Cecil, as a cutter drove to the door, “here is your Lubin again.”  The girls had just returned from the Rink, and were disrobing upstairs.

“Oh, he is so tiresome,” said the other.  “I declare I won’t come down.”

“That you must; we should never get rid of him; he would sit on waiting for you.  You have made such a goose of him, Bluebell, and he used to be such fun.”

“I shouldn’t mind him if he was fun now; but he just sits glowering at one, and stays so long.  Why can’t a person see when he is not wanted?”

“But you do want him sometimes,” said Cecil.  “You are always ‘off’ and ‘on’ with poor Jack.  I believe, if he proposed, you would say ‘No’ one day and retract the next.”

They entered the drawing-room, where was young Vavasour, as usual, making conversation to Mrs. Rolleston, who was at once bored and disproving.  Cecil shook hands pleasantly enough, but Bluebell, not even looking at him, extended a lifeless hand in passing, and, picking up some work, appeared absorbed in counting stitches.