A day or two after this evening, Harry, coming in from a smoke, saw Bluebell, with a pleased, intent face, writing, as fast as the pen could scratch, over some foreign paper.

“Oh, Harry,” cried she without looking up, “we must not forget to walk into the town this afternoon.  It is mail-day, I have no stamps.”

Dutton’s face became suddenly overcast.  He jerked the end of his cigar into the fire, and threw down his hat.

“Whom are you writing to?” he asked.

“To my mother, and everybody,” said Bluebell, gleefully.  “I am telling them all about it.”

“The devil!  My dear child, stop a little.”

“Why?” looking up surprised.  “Oh, do you want to put something in?  It would be nicer.  I’ll leave half a sheet.”

Harry looked the picture of vexation and perplexity.  He had never realized Bluebell’s relations, and here it seemed she was in regular correspondence with her mother and other friends.

“My dear girl, for goodness’ sake stop!  My uncle does not know it yet, and you mustn’t say a word to any one.”

Bluebell seemed rather bewildered.  “Why don’t you tell your uncle, then?  And surely my mother would be equally interested!”

Dutton sat down for a long explanation, “I shouldn’t so much have cared about offending him before, but now I have you, Bluebell, it would be ruin.  I have nothing but my profession and what he allows me; and he disinherited his only son for a marriage that displeased him.”

She gave a half start here.  “What is your uncle’s name.”

“Lord Bromley.”

“Oh, of course; you told me so before.  Well, go on.”

“I shall run down to ‘The Towers’ presently, sound the old man, and break it to him, if possible.  If I could only take you, my darling, it ought to do the business!  By Jove, I have a great mind to try!”

“But,” said Bluebell, reverting to her own immediate anxiety, “I must tell them at home what has become of me.  Fancy, Harry, what a state they would be in, not hearing!  Let me, at any rate, say I am married, but cannot tell my name for a few weeks.”

“Well, mind you don’t say more,” very gloomily.  “I dare say there will be no end of a row, and they will be sending people to try and trace us.  Impossible for a month, though,” he reflected.

“And, Harry, did you write to Captain Davidson?”

He shook his head.

“Oh, do, pray, or let me!”

“Now, my dear Bluebell, haven’t we just agreed the fewer people who know it the better?  You say you left a letter telling him you were to be married, and it is no further business of his.  Besides, he is a suspicious old nuisance, and would very likely come boring down here; and then I should be sure to quarrel with him.  Come along, put on your hat, and let us go out.”

“I must re-write my letter,” said she.  It was much shorter than the other one, and a sober look had dawned on her fair face when it was finished.