“She’ll no jeest like it at first,” he muttered, half aloud; and as the moment approached and apprehension intensified, he repeated the remark still louder.

This moderate expectation was amply justified by the event.  The good lady received the explanatory introduction with a snort, and a countenance expressive of contempt and disbelief, while she ironically “feared there would be nothing in the house good enough for her.”

Bluebell endeavoured to excuse her unlucky presence, the best argument she could think of being that she would advertise for another situation immediately.  Only for the fear of offending the captain, she would have added that she was prepared to pay for her board, which, by putting it on a business footing, would doubtless have commended itself to the dominant passion of her hostess’s mind, and dispersed the misgivings she at present entertained of this “fine madam.”

The general stiffness was relieved by the boisterous greetings of the captain’s boys, who had just rushed in from school; but it was a terrible evening to Bluebell, feeling de trop, and unable to calculate how soon she should be released.

“Ye’ll jeest put her in Phemie’s room,” the skipper had said. (Phemie was a daughter lately married.) “How will I do that,” was the responding retort, “when the carpet is up, and the iron bedstead was broke by Rab a week syne?”

“Well, then, Rab will jeest let her have his bed,” said the captain, equably brewing himself some whiskey-and-water,—­and so on through the evening, during which Mrs. Davidson by no means softened the trouble and inconvenience Bluebell’s presence occasioned, whose spirits fell to their lowest depth.

Was it to be wondered at that Harry Dutton recurred pretty constantly to her mind?  She could think calmly now of the proposal that had so startled her before.  It was, at any rate, a sincere, straightforward offer of marriage, and so far he contrasted favourably with Bertie, whom she had determined to forget.  But, then, she had dismissed him—­he had gone away to his uncle’s, and they would probably never meet again; and as when a thing is out of reach it becomes immediately enhanced in value, she began to regret her lost lover, and to think that there, perhaps, might have been a short cut out of her difficulties.  We are aware that this unlucky admission must depose her at once from the rank of a heroine, as it is well known a heroine never for an instant suffers interest to enter into the sacred claims of love.

CHAPTER XXIX.

BLUEBELL’S DEBUT IN THE OLD COUNTRY.

Says “Be content my lovely May,
For thou shalt be my bride.” 
With her yellow hair, that glittered fair,
She dried the trickling tear,
And sighed the name of Branxholm’s heir,
The youth that she loved dear. 

          
                                                —­Scott.