Her thoughts became more lively as she speculated why Bertie and Cecil were absent from the sleighing party.  It was some consolation, at any rate, not to see him enjoying himself quite as much without her.  The sun was setting redly as she neared the cottage, and a young moon gaining brightness.  Bluebell, remembering a childish superstition, paused to wish.  The passage was dark as she entered, and her mother’s tones, talking with great volubility, struck her ear.  “Mamma has her company voice on,” thought she, which, being interpreted, meant an increase of nervousness and consequent garrulity.

She opened the door, and her heart gave a sudden leap as she became aware of, rather than saw in the dusk, the tall, broad-shouldered form of Du Meresq.  Bluebell came stiffly forward, and offered a cold hand, utterly belying her heart, to Bertie, who bent over it as if sorely tempted, in spite of Mrs. Leigh’s presence, to carry it to his lips.  But she withdrew it abruptly, and sat down, seized with more overpowering shyness than she had ever experienced.

Miss Opie’s keen, attentive eyes were taking in the situation.

“Captain Du Meresq has been kind enough to call,” said Mrs. Leigh, “to say there is no immediate hurry for your return, my dear.”

Bluebell raised disappointed, questioning eyes; but something in his face conveyed to her that the message was coined as an excuse for his appearance.

“I hope Cecil is well?” said she, trying to speak unconcernedly; “but I saw she was not out with the Club to-day.”

“I think she is tired of it.  Where did you fall in with them?” asked he.

“In the Humber,” very consciously.

“Were you there?” asked Bertie, with a tender inflection in his voice, that Bluebell knew well.  But she would not look up, and Miss Opie did, so he proceeded carelessly,—­“I suppose they were coming from the Lake Shore Road, up the serpentine drive in the wood?”

“Oh! that is such a pretty walk in summer!” said Mrs. Leigh.

“I dare say,” said Bertie, looking straight down his nose.  “I went round that way once, and even in winter found it the pleasantest walk I ever took in my life.”

“Ah, then,” said Mrs. Leigh, knowingly, “I dare say some pretty young lady was with you.”

“No such happiness,” said Bertie, with an imperceptible glance at Bluebell.  “The fact is, Mrs. Leigh, women detest me!  I suppose it is my deep respect, making me so fearful of offending, that bores them; but I fear I am a social failure.”

“In my day,” said Miss Opie, ironically, “young ladies expected to be treated with respect.”

“And that could not have been so long ago; yet now they are beyond a bashful man’s comprehension,” said Bertie, with an air of simplicity, slightly scanning Miss Opie’s wakeful face.  He had got on so well with the mamma, who was this old maid, who appeared so objectionably on the alert?