Next morning Bluebell rose early, and wrote out an advertisement, in which she described herself, more truthfully, than diplomatically, as a young person of eighteen, proficient in music, but not skilled enough in other branches of education for advanced pupils.

The captain promised to write to Mrs. Leighton, reporting her arrival, and explaining that “Miss Leigh would not think of intruding on her in her bereavement, but only requested permission to be allowed to apply to her as a reference when she heard of another situation.”  He added, “That in the meantime Miss Leigh was remaining in his family.”

Armed with the advertisement, Bluebell pensively walked off to get it inserted in the Liverpool Mercury.  The captain lived in a suburb of the town, and had given her clear directions how to find the office.  It was a disagreeable walk, and she was obliged to concentrate all her attention on not losing the way, so her thoughts could not well stray to Harry Dutton; but ere she had proceeded many streets—­she met him!  He was looking very haggard, but eagerness and triumph lighted up his large brown eyes as he perceived her.  Bluebell was in a state of half terror, half delight, and whole bewilderment.

“How is it you are still in Liverpool?” she gasped.

“I have been walking about all day in hopes of meeting you!” cried he, disregarding her question.

Bluebell felt as if she had recovered an old friend.  She told him of her rough reception by Mrs. Davidson, and how annoyed she was at being forced to remain there an unwelcome guest.

The answer to this was obvious, but the lieutenant would say nothing now to scare her.

“Why we have got to the river,” she said, after some unheeded period of eager conversation, “and my advertisement!  It must be miles from the office!”

“Much too far to go back,” said the sailor “Give it me, I will insert it for you.”

“Thank you,” said the heedless Bluebell.  “That will be so much pleasanter, and we need not thread those horrid streets again!”

There was nothing more to do but to go home, and yet she didn’t directly.  There would be only Mrs. Davidson in, who was so ungracious and disagreeable, and she lingered half an hour or so, talking to Harry Dutton, who would, perhaps, be gone by to-morrow, but he wasn’t, nor the next day, nor the next.  They never made any assignations, yet day after day Bluebell met him, and for a brief space they were together.

Harry Dutton was only twenty-two, he had been at sea all his life, and had never been seriously in love before.  But now he had completely lost his head, and all considerations were swept away by this overmastering passion, which his knowledge that Bluebell did not fully return only seemed to augment.  His uncle was a selfish, exacting old man, but he had been kind enough to this boy who, with the usual ingratitude of human nature, forgot everything to gratify the fancy of the moment.