Bertie, with his spoils, was by her side, and, having restored her nerves with champagne, proceeded to agitate them again with the warmest protestations of affection.  The child with the day’s experience before her, only half-believed him, but the spirit of coquetry woke up, and she resolved to try and make him care for her as much as he pretended to do.

But Bluebell was trying her ’prentice hand with a veteran in such warfare.

They were alone in the little room, in one adjoining a few people were sitting.

“I wish that girl would not watch us so,” said Bluebell, indicating one apparently deep in a photograph book, under cover of which she was furtively observing them.

“Oh,” said Bertie, with a groan, “she’s been following me about ever since I asked her for a dance six off.  I hope it is over.”

“I dare say she’s very angry at being left sitting out,” said Bluebell.  “I am sure I should be.”

“Ah,” said Bertie, “your experience will be all the other way—­it’s us poor fellows who will be thrown over, besides, she shouldn’t have got introduced to me.  I saw her going on the wrong leg and all out of step, and Jack Vavasour says she’s a regular stick-in-the-mud to talk to.”

A stream now issued from the supper room, and Mr. Vavasour, bowing himself free from a “comfortable” looking matron, hurried up.

“Our dance, Miss Leigh.  I thought I should never be in time.  She was twenty minutes at the chicken and lobster-salad, and then went in for sweets.”

“I must go and give my girl a turn, I suppose,” whispered Bertie.  “She’s guarding the outposts so no chance of giving her the slip.  She’d go raging off to the Colonel.  Just like him, letting one in for such a real bad thing.”

A few sleighs were beginning to jingle up, but most of the girls assumed moccasins, clouds, and furs, and kilting their petticoats as deftly and mysteriously as only Canadians can, set out in parties, escorted by their partners, and stepped briskly over the moon lit snow to their respective dwellings.

Bertie saw his party off in their sleigh, tenderly squeezing Bluebell’s hand, who fell to his share, but did not return with them.  Indeed, he was walking soon in quite an opposite direction, by the side of a shrouded figure in a rose-coloured cloud, out of which laughed the mischievous eyes of the second Miss Tremaine.

CHAPTER IX.

CROSS PURPOSES.

      Trifles, light as air,
Are to the jealous confirmation strong
As proofs of holy writ. 
                        —­Shakespeare.

Bluebell had not visited her mother for three weeks.  One Saturday Freddy had a sore throat and would not let her out of his sight, keeping up an incessant demand for black-currant jelly and fairy tales, and the next week a heavy fall of snow made walking impossible.  She now very often shared the gaieties of the others.  Mrs. Rolleston took great interest in Bluebell’s career.  She thought it by no means improbable that Sir Timothy should have provided for her in his will, or, indeed, that he might any day acknowledge her; and though she took her out, and let her dance to her heart’s content, kept faithful watch to prevent any undesirable flirtation.