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.

Next morning they all met at breakfast as usual. No allusion was made to her approaching departure. Afterwards, she attended to Freddy's nominal lessons, packed her slender wardrobe, and then remained in her own room, for the first time unwilling to go downstairs without an invitation. And yet she grudged every hour that passed and brought the separation nearer. She heard Bertie whistling about the house, so she would most likely see him before starting-probably only at luncheon, though, which was the children's dinner. A minute before the bell rang Bluebell descended, and came full on Du Meresq in an angle of the staircase. She stopped involuntarily. He was beside her with a smothered exclamation of endearment, and an eager hand seeking hers. Had she dreamt it? The face was impassive, the hand dropped, and a careless voice was saying,-

"Are you really going home this afternoon, Miss Leigh?"

At the same instant she observed Cecil's upturned eyes in the hall below them. So she had the felicity of eating a cutlet in the presence of her love, but received no aliment for her heart-hunger. Du Meresq was teazing his nieces, and did not add much to the general conversation, but the others made up for it, and, when they addressed Bluebell, did so in a particularly cheery tone, as to a nervous, fanciful girl, not to be encouraged or noticed in her blue fits. She had thought of walking home late in the afternoon, still hoping that something might bring about some last words with Du Meresq, or that he might even contrive to join her on the road; but Mrs. Rolleston, in the tone of one proposing a pleasure, said she would drive her back herself, and that the sleigh was ordered in half-an-hour.

Bluebell, goaded to mild exasperation, glanced hastily to where Bertie had been sitting, but he had left the room unperceived.

The sleigh was at the door, so also was Captain Du Meresq, smoking an after-luncheon cigar. I grieve to say my heroine displayed not a particle of self-respect as, pale and dejected, she seated herself by Mrs. Rolleston. Indeed, the blue eyes were beginning to swim, when they were dried by a flash of indignation at the parting words of Du Meresq. He merely raised his hat, without attempting to shake hands, and said, in a jesting tone,-"Au revoir, Miss Bluebell. I hope you will be a comfort to your mamma."

As the jingle of the bells died away in the distance, Cecil felt a load removed from her heart. Bluebell had become an object of uncomfortable surmises, and her absence was an inexpressible relief.

She had a fair field now, and Bertie all to herself, and did not intend to spoil the present with tormenting suspicions of the past.

"Probably he may have flattered Bluebell at odd times, and turned her head; but Bertie, though he will talk nonsense to anybody who will listen to him, cares for something more than a pretty face. He will forget her directly she is out of sight, for there really is nothing in her."

Thus severely did Cecil reflect on the friend she had been the means of bringing into the house, and had loved all the more for the kindnesses she had been able to show her. But, then, who could have foreseen that the protégéé would turn into a rival?

Her meditations were interrupted by the chief subject of them.

"What do you intend doing, Cecil, this afternoon?"

"It is very unsettling, people going away," said she, serenely. No occasion to let him see the satisfaction it gave her. "Shall we go and skate at the Rink, presently?"

"Oh, ain't you sick of that place? Let us order your cutter, and look in on the Armstrongs' toboggining party?"

"Enchanting!" said Cecil, brightening. "But, dear me! it will be nearly over."

"Not if you look sharp. 'Wings' will take us there in half-an-hour; it isn't five miles to the hill. Don't forget to leave your crinoline behind."

Du Meresq rang the bell, and Cecil re-appeared in a few minutes, innocent of her "sans reflectum," and in a clinging black velveteen suit, with a golden oriole in her cap, and a scarf of the same hue knotted about her waist.

"None so dusty," said Bertie, approvingly. "You look best in daring colours, Cecil."

Personal praise from Du Meresq, however expressed, was not unwelcome to Cecil, who was sensitively alive to her want of beauty. But she answered, carelessly,-"Just a refuge for the destitute. I can't wear pale shades, or blue or green."

"No, my bright brunette; but that Satanic mixture does not misbecome you,"-and he murmured the words in "May Janet,"-

"The first town they came to there was a blue bride chamber,

He clothed her on with silk, and belted her with amber."

"Come and help me down with the toboggin, Bertie. It is a-top of the book-shelf,"-and they dragged down a mysterious structure of maple wood, having the appearance of a plank six feet long by two wide, and turned up at one end. It had red cord reins, and Cecil's monogram, neatly painted, on the outside.

"We must show off our smart toboggin, I suppose; though where on earth we can put it in the cutter I can't think," said Du Meresq.

"I had rather hold it on my lap than not take it. Here comes 'Wings,'"-and a high-stepping American horse, bought out of a sulky, as not sufficiently justifying his name for racing purposes, dashed up to the door with the smallest and prettiest cutter in the city. The robes were white wolf-skins, bordered with black bear. The one hanging from the back exhibited a bear's head and claws on the white ground. Both robes and bells were mounted in scarlet and white; and the masks of two owls occupied the place of rosettes on "Wings'" head-stall.

"Well," said Bertie, "we are, luckily, not in Hyde Park; and I suppose a sleigh can't be too bizarre. Is this the creation of your festive fancy, Cecil?"

"Yes; I don't disown it. I sent a coloured sketch of what I wanted to Gaines, and he found fur and everything. 'Wings' was bought in an auction last month. He went cheap, because they never could teach him the correct 'racking' action. Papa advised me to have him, as he thought he would carry me in the summer, and I have no other horse."

"I'll tell you what, Cecil; we must extend our wings if we are to be in time. Canter him across the common, there's a capital track."

"Can't he go!" said she, exultingly, as on a hard, frozen surface they sped along. "We rush through the air so silently that if it were not for the bells one might fancy oneself flying."

"Yes," said Bertie; "I have known more unpleasant sensations than being driven ten miles an hour by a fair lady-a dark one, I should say."

"Given the lady. I don't think you much care whom it may chance to be, Bertie."

"If a woman is pretty, to me it's no matter

Be she blonde or brunette, so she let me look at her."

"Were you thinking of those lines in 'Lucille'?"

"Them's your sentiments to a T, I should say."

"And you ought to have lived in the days when the knight had 'Une seule' embroidered on his banner. I'll never believe that his loves were so limited; doubtless each appropriated the invidious distinction to herself."

"I know one knight," said Cecil, "who would give them plenty of reason to do so."

"Fancy," continued Bertie "riding in full armour to a crossroad, and challenging every one to single combat who declined to acknowledge his particular fair to be queen of love and beauty, and that no one else should hold a candle to her! Now we should think it great impertinence in a fellow to offer his opinion about her at all."

"No," laughed Cecil, "such public proclamation would never suit these inconsistent days."

"Can you not believe yourself 'Une seule,' Cecil, even in these days?" returned he, meaningly and tenderly.

"That would depend on my knight," said she, blushing, and uncertain how to take it. "I should not care to live in a Fool's Paradise."

"If it were Paradise, why analyze the wisdom of it?" said Bertie, gazing with surprised admiration at her radiant face, that kindled as with some hidden fire.

"I could do without him," answered she, "but if he were worth caring for I wouldn't share him with any one."

"I hope Fane isn't 'Un seul,' Cecil. For a young lady with such severe ideas of constancy, you were pretty thick at the sleighing-party."

There was something in this speech that annoyed Cecil, who turned it off with a short answer. It might have been that she did not like him so composedly contemplating such a possibility.

Du Meresq said no more, perhaps because they were approaching the toboggin hill, or perhaps, like Dr. Johnson, he had nothing ready.

Cecil was sorry they were so near. She felt more interested in the conversation than in the party, and gazed wistfully down a by road that would have led them in an opposite direction.

"I wish I dare turn sharp off," thought she. "But, no! we are conventional beings. This idiotic performance is the goal and object of our expedition. I am driving, and must do nothing so indecently eccentric."

So she gave "Wings" a flick with her whip, that sent him up to his bit with his knees in his mouth, and they drew rein on the edge of the snow mountain.

Miss Tremaine's bright face was just on a level with the top, drawing up her own toboggin.

"Here's this dear little Lily," said Bertie.

"Your diminutives are curiously applied," said Cecil. "That is a very substantial petite."

"How late you are," cried Miss Tremaine, rushing up to them. 'Wings,' who couldn't bear waiting, began to rear. "Gracious, Cecil, does he feed on yeast-powder to make him 'rise' so? How do you do, Captain Du Meresq? Come along; there's some capital jumps. Here's my little brother will hang on to the horse's head till we find some one else, if you are sure 'Wings' will not soar away with him, like an eagle with a lamb."

"I'd better billet him on that farm," said Du Meresq, driving off.

"And I must go and speak to Mrs. Armstrong," said Cecil.

* * *

Chapter 10 TOBOGGINING.

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