This was Bluebell’s first acquaintance with a really grand English park, and, during the long drive through it, she gazed in wondering delight at the stately trees, heavy with summer foliage, the herds of deer, the calm lake, with kingly swans gliding over it.  Perhaps her greatest surprise was that all this fair domain belonged to one individual.  Why, the richest “boss” in Canada possessed no more than a few acres of lawn and pleasure ground, with ornamental trees and shrubs,—­all looking new,—­the production of a self made man, grown rich within a few years.  These stately oaks and beeches must have seen generations live and die, lords of the manor, and she began better to understand Harry’s reluctance to risk such an inheritance.

“Oh, they are exercising ‘Hobbie,’” cried the children “Then we shall have some rides.”

Lord Bromley seldom presented himself to his guests till dinner-time.  Polite grooms of the chamber offered tea, etc., the housekeeper showed visitors to their rooms.  But on this occasion Mrs. Barrington was virtually lady of the house, and, being too late to receive, was in voluble conversation with a few persons already arrived.

Bluebell was not introduced to any one, and, her first sensations of excited curiosity having subsided, began to feel as if she must stiffen to her chair if no one would speak to her and break the spell.  It was a welcome relief when Adela exclaimed,—­

“Mamma, may we go up to the nursery?”

“With all my heart, and take Miss Leigh.”

The children darted off across a slippery oak hall, up a flight of stone stairs with a velvety carpet, then along a passage leading to a private staircase with a red baize door shutting it off.  It opened into a long low room, still keeping the name of nursery, and at each end were bed-rooms, one for the two girls, the smaller for Bluebell.

“This is such a jolly place,” cried Adela, who seemed to have left all her primness at Brighton.  “You have never seen the spring woods, nor the amphitheatre, nor the waterfall!”

“Nor the terraces and gardens, nor the menagerie, nor dry pond,” added Mabel.  “Oh, we could not show you everything in a fortnight.  Shall we come out now or after tea?  It isn’t laid yet.  Let us have it out of doors.”

Bluebell was almost as eager as the children; and they spent the hot June evening under the trees, listening to bird choruses and the rich solo of a lingering nightingale.

Next morning she was conducted by her pupils round the spring woods, the same walk that Dutton and his cousin had perambulated eighteen months ago.  It took just twenty-five minutes to make the circuit, returning to the starting point, marked by a summer-house.

When they had got about half way round, they were met by an old, spare gentlemen, slightly bent.  He nodded to the children, spoke a casual word, and mechanically raised his hat to Bluebell.  The intensity of her interest gave animation to her countenance.