“Nor could the ‘dairy flower’ herself, I should think.  It’s no use rhapsodizing before me, Bertie; I shall not tell her in any confidential communication, whatever you may think.”

“Ah, well,” said Captain Du Meresq, with a sigh, “let us hope the ingenious child may understand the universal language of the eyes, for I hear papa would not approve of my speaking to her.”

Mrs. Rolleston was becoming fidgetty.  To some women, as they advance in years, an inability of separating chaff from earnest becomes more pronounced, and the uppermost wish of her mind at present was to see a real attachment between Bertie and Cecil.  Albert Du Meresq was only her half-brother; but he had become her charge in infancy under terrible circumstances, which we will briefly relate.

When Mr. Du Meresq married his mother, a wilful Irish beauty, Mrs. Rolleston was a shy, reserved girl of thirteen, and became very jealous of her father’s exclusive devotion to his bride and neglect of herself.

Lady Inez looked upon her as rather a nuisance, and was coldly critical upon her appearance and manner.  She was an unsparing mimic, and frequently exercised the faculty on her step-daughter, whose nervousness became awkwardness in the constant expectation of being turned into ridicule.  Consequently, she cordially disliked not only Lady Inez, but the little step-brother, who was made of so much importance, till one ghastly day changed the aspect of events.

Like a fearful dream it had seemed—­a strange carriage rolling to the door, from which emerged her father and another gentleman carrying a terrible burden, looking supernaturally long in a riding-habit.  White scared faces flitted about; but life was extinct, and there was no frantic riding for doctors.

There had been a hunt-breakfast that morning, and she well remembered the envy she had felt at seeing Lady Inez ride gaily forth with the rest on a favourite horse.

“She has everything,” thought Bella, “‘Reindeer’ was promised to me when he was a foal, and I have never been on his back.”

But Lady Inez was lying there, with the mark of “Reindeer’s” iron hoof on her temple.  They had come down together at a blind fence; the horse, entangled in her habit, struck out once, as thorough-breds will, but it was a death-blow.

The voice of the child, crying alone and neglected in the nursery, aroused Bella from a horror stricken stupor.  Her father’s despair made him unapproachable, but she might comfort Bertie, forgotten by his attendants.

From this time she became almost a mother to him, for Mr. Du Meresq went abroad, and they were left alone in the deserted house for some years.

Bertie had left Eton, and just obtained a commission in the ——­ Hussars, when his father died, leaving him a moderate fortune, which steadily decreased as years went by.  It had approached attenuation by this time, and Mrs. Rolleston felt as distracted and perplexed as a duckling’s hen foster-mother, at the vagaries of the happy-go-lucky, reckless Irish blood in Bertie, which did not flow in her own veins.