“Evidently,” said Bluebell, very tartly, drawing as far away as the exigencies of the track would admit.  She could hold her own well enough with the young subalterns she had hitherto flirted with, but this man was older, and had a bewildering effect on her.

“Are you and Cecil great friends?” asked Bertie, presently, with the air of having forgotten the fracas.

“I hope so,” coming out of her offended silence at this neutral topic.  “I know I like her well enough.”

“And do you tell each other everything, after the manner of young ladies?”

“No-o,” said Bluebell, reflectively; “not like the girls at school.  You see Cecil is older than I, and cleverer, I suppose, and doesn’t talk much nonsense.”

“Did she ever speak of me?” asked Bertie.

“Hardly ever; the others have mentioned you often.”

“Cecil is a very sensible girl,” with a re-assured countenance; “and as you never talk nonsense, I suppose you won’t mention the trivial fact of our having taken this walk?”

“Why in the world not?” opening her large violet eyes full upon him.

“‘Speech is silver, but silence is golden,’ you unsophisticated child,” returned he, enigmatically.

Bluebell considered.  “Why, of course, I shall tell Mrs. Rolleston what made me so late.”

“But not if she doesn’t ask you?”

“But why not?  There is no harm in it,” said the girl, persistently.

“No, no; but if you had lived as long as I, you would know that people always try and interfere with anything pleasant.  I should so like to take this walk with you every week, Bluebell.”

Bluebell looked down; she was vaguely flattered by his caring to repeat the walk which she thought must be so unimportant to him,—­it would be something to look forward to, for she had enjoyed it, though she could not tell why.

“But, Captain Du Meresq—­” she began.

“Call me Bertie, when we are alone,” said he.

They had entered on the street, Bluebell was wavering, but the last sentence, “when we are alone,” struck her ear unpleasantly.

“How can I?” said she; “I do not know you well enough.”

“Walk with me sometimes,” whispered Bertie, “and that reason will disappear, but don’t say a word about it to-day, there’s a dear girl.  I had better make tracks for the club; you will be at home in five minutes,”—­and Du Meresq ceremoniously lifted his cap, for many eyes were about, and disappeared down another block.

Bluebell on finding herself alone, went through a disagreeable reaction.  It was certainly only a few yards to her destination; but it was annoying to be left so abruptly, and an air of secrecy thrown over her actions too.  Did she like him, or hate him?  She could not determine; her fancy and her vanity were both touched, doubtless; then, remembering Miss Opie’s exhortations, a gleam of fun twinkled in her eyes as she thought of what her horror would have been at Bertie’s affectionate ease of manner.