And yet such criticism was more undeserved than usual, for a look of gentle happiness softened and inspired her naturally plain features, and lent an unwonted tender grace to a somewhat inexpressive figure.

Lord Bromley did not observe their frequent contiguity with the same satisfaction as of yore.  On the contrary, his eye rested on Harry with a somewhat sarcastic expression, and he remained thoughtful and distrait.

CHAPTER XL.

THE MINIATURE.

          True, I have married her. 

The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent, no more. 

          
                                      —­Shakespeare.

Lord Bromley did not suffer the nocturnal festivities to interfere with his morning walk, during which he came upon the governess and her pupils looking as fresh as the dawn.

“I need not ask if you have recovered from last night, Miss Leigh,” observed he, dryly, as he bowed demurely, with a somewhat conscious air.

“Did you dance?” asked Mabel; “for I heard you come up just after the stable clock struck one, and the music had been going on for ever so long.”

Now, it might have been half-past eleven when Miss Leigh had professed herself to Lord Bromley as too ill and tired to dream of dancing.  Looking the consternation she felt at this contradictory piece of evidence, she remained silent, not daring to raise her eyes.

“Who would have taken you for such an actress!” said the peer, in rather ambiguous accents.

Bluebell looked up desperately; her expression was ingenuous, but half imploring.

“Such nerve and command of countenance!” rhapsodized his Lordship, with the same odd fixed look and sarcastic inflection of voice.  “The idea of the plot so perfectly conceived and played out!  Had you much practice—­in Canada.”

“I have played in charades and small pieces,” wondering how he knew she had been in Canada.

“But you never really acted till you came to England?  How long was that ago?”

“Some time now,” confusedly.

“Nearly two years, perhaps?”

“About that—­no, not quite so much,” more and more perplexed by his manner.

“I hope you’ll come down, and sing to us to-night.  Miss Leigh.  I am not sure I don’t prefer that accomplishment for young ladies—­it is safer.”  He turned away, leaving Bluebell in bewilderment.

Kate, recovered by a night’s rest, would consent to no more seclusion; the blow was not much of a disfigurement now, and she was making an immense fuss over Harry, which suited him well enough to encourage, as he rather repented the imprudently frequent dances with Geraldine, and felt embarrassed in her society this morning.

The cousins were sitting on an ottoman, in half-teazing, half-affectionate discourse, when Bluebell, feeling like a conspirator of the deepest dye, entered demurely with her pupils.  Kate watched Harry narrowly, who did not appear to have observed their entrance.