“Not mine.  I have been laid up ten days with a broken ankle.  But I suppose you have been seeing Jack Vavasour every day, and forgotten all about me?”

“Bertie,” said Bluebell, hesitatingly, “did they say anything to you about—­”

“About Jack?  Yes, they said he was spoons on you.  And also, Miss Bluebell, that you were awfully in love with him.”

“No, no, nonsense,” said she, blushing.  “I meant about yourself.”

“They know nothing of that?” said he, inquiringly.

“They do, though.  I don’t know what you will say, Bertie, but I told Mrs. Rolleston.”

“What can you mean, Bluebell?  Bella told me that you cared for nobody but Jack Vavasour; and I was deuced angry, I can tell you; at first, though I thought it uncommon ’cute of you saying so.”

Bluebell, utterly confounded by this extraordinary assertion, had no time to reply, for she found herself close to a covered sleigh, and the man had got down and opened the door.  She drew back.

“Jump in,” said Bertie, impatiently.

Bluebell shook her head.

“What do you propose?” said he, in an angry whisper.  “We can’t sit out in the snow, and I can’t walk another yard.”

She hesitated, and he gently impelled her into the vehicle, following himself, to the anguish of his injured foot, that he had struck in his haste.

“Where to, sir?” said the man, whom Bertie, in his momentary pain, had forgotten.

“Go to the Don Bridge.”

“Can’t, sir.  I am ordered at the College by six o’clock.”

“Drive to the devil, then.  I mean, drive about as long as you can.  I like driving.”

“Hush, Bertie! how can you?  What will he think?”

“How much ‘old rye’ he will get out of the job.  Come, Bluebell; the hour is ours, don’t spoil it fidgetting about trivialities.  I have scarcely dared to look at you yet, my beautiful pet,” trying to steal an arm round her waist.  But she drew herself away, irresponsive and rigid, being uneasy and frightened at the escapade she had been led into.

“You haven’t a spark of moral courage, Bluebell,” said Bertie, impatiently.  “You are as prim and unlike yourself as possible, just because you are wondering what that man on the box will think.  Or, perhaps, you are afraid of that thin, sour old duenna at home.”

“She will be inquisitive enough,” said Bluebell, resignedly.  “And, Bertie, I wanted to tell you, but, perhaps, you know, that they will never have me again at the ‘Maples’ while you are there,—­Mrs. Rolleston so utterly disapproves of it.”

“What is this hallucination that you have got hold of?” said Du Meresq.  “What did you tell, or fancy you told, Bella?”

“We got on the subject.  Your name wasn’t actually mentioned; but she quite understood, and said something,” said Bluebell, reddening as she felt the awkwardness of her words, “very strong against it.”