The word system in Rachel’s mouth was quite sufficient to send Bessie to her croquet, and the poor boys were at length rewarded for their unusual patience.  Their mother had been enduring almost as much as they did in her dislike to see them tantalised, and she now threw herself into the game with a relish that proved that as yet, at least, Conrade’s approbation was more to her than Captain Keith’s.  It was very pretty to see her so pleased with her instructions, so eager about her own game, and yet so delighted with every hit of her boys; while Bessie was an admirable general, playing everybody’s game as well as her own, and with such life and spirit, such readiness and good nature, that a far duller sport would have been delicious under her management.

“Poor Alick,” said she, meeting him when he again strolled into the garden, while the boys were collecting the mallets and balls; “he did think he had one lawn in the world undefiled by those horrible hoops!” then as she met his smile of amusement and pardon, “but it was so exactly what they wanted here.  It is so good for Lady Temple and her boys to have something they can do together.”

The pleased affectionate smile was gone.

“I object to nothing but its being for her good,” he said gravely.

“But now, does not it make her very happy, and suit her excellently?”

“May be so, but that is not the reason you introduced it.”

“You have a shocking habit of driving one up into corners, Alick, but it shall be purely, purely for my own selfish delight,” and she clasped her hands in so droll an affectation of remorse, that the muscles round his eyes quivered with diversion, though the hair on his lip veiled what the corners of his mouth were about; “if only,” she proceeded, “you won’t let it banish you.  You must come over to take care of this wicked little sister, or who knows what may be the consequences.”

“I kept away partly because I was busy, and partly because I believe you are such a little ape as always to behave worse when you have the semblance of a keeper;” he said, with his arm fondly on her shoulder as they walked.

“And in the mean time fell out the adventure of the distinguished essayist.”

“I am afraid,” he returned, “that was a gratuitous piece of mischief, particularly annoying to so serious and thoughtful a person as Miss Rachel Curtis.”

“Jealousy?” exclaimed Bessie in an ecstatic tone.  “You see what you lost by not trusting me, to behave myself under the provocation of your presence.”

“What! the pleasure of boxing your ears for a coward?”

“Of seizing the happy opening!  I am very much afraid for you now, Alick,” she proceeded with mock gravity.  “What hope can a poor Captain of Highlanders, even if he does happen to be a wounded hero or two, have against a distinguished essayist and landscape painter; if it were a common case indeed, but where Wisdom herself is concerned—­”