The three young men were talking together.

“Du Meresq,” said Captain Deveril, “you get more leave than any other fellow.  You were in the Prairies in July, England in the spring, and now here you are at large again in January.”

“You must have a rattling good chief,” said Mr. Vavasour, “I don’t think, Mrs. Rolleston, the Colonel is ever able to spare us quite so often.”

“You see,” said Bertie, “there’s no demand for leave among our fellows just now; they are all in love at Montreal, and there’s so much going on there.  Lascelles most imprudently gave up his to drive Miss Ellery about a little longer.”

“Oh, ah, I know her,” said young Vavasour; “girl with grey eyes, and head always on one side when she’s valsing; looks as if she was kissing her own shoulder.”

“Will she land him, do you think?” said Deveril.

“Not she,” said Bertie.  “I have known him in as bad a scrape before; he’ll get away to England soon; he always bolts when the family becomes affectionate.”

A discordant gong resounding through the house was followed by the announcement of dinner.

“Come, my dear Miss Prosody,” said the Colonel, complacently, leading her forth; he hadn’t near done his recital of the morning’s field-day, which required that delicate tact and judicious prompting to extort from him that, though not really Brigadier on the occasion, his opinion and authority had actually directed the proceedings.

Generally any amount of this affectionate incense was forthcoming from his wife and daughter; but to-night they both seemed a little distrait and occupied with Bertie, which, however, was a loss little felt with Miss Prosody present, whose motto seemed that of the volunteers, “Always ready,” and her “soothing treatment” was certainly equal to that of either of the others.

“It’s you and I, Miss Bluebell,” said young Vavasour, hastily offering his arm, while Bertie who had hesitated an instant, gave his to Cecil.  The momentary reluctance was not lost upon her, she become rather silent, ditto Captain Du Meresq; but their opposite neighbours were in a full flow of chatter.

“I saw you on the Rink, Miss Leigh, I wish I could skate like you.  What is that thing you do with a broom??”

“The rose.”

“Take a good deal of cultivating to produce.  I should think?  Are you going to the M’Nab’s ball?”

“No; I am not asked.  The others are.”

“But you do go to balls sometimes?”

“Oh, yes; Mrs. Rolleston promised I should; but I can’t go without an invitation, and I very seldom get one.”

“I daresay not,” said Jack hotly; “they don’t want their daughters cut out.”

“Stuff,” cried Bluebell, with a sudden blush, which was not occasioned by the remark, but by the expression of Bertie Du Meresq’s eyes that she had caught for about the third time since dinner began.  It was very provoking; they had a sort of magnetic power, that forced her to look that way, and she fancied she detected a half-pleased smile in recognition of the involuntary suffusion.