Miss Prosody knew of old that Lilla was incorrigible, and, having no hope of support from Cecil in any attempt to snub her, resolved to discountenance the proceeding by going away, and summoned the children from their tree, who were quite ready for a fresh start.  The girls declared it was too hot to move.  Lilla continued to puff away lazily, the zest rather gone now there was nobody to be shocked at it.  Bluebell, mingling her voice with the birds, was singing the “Danube River,” while Cecil, with shut eyes, lay in her canoe, and gave herself up to the dreamy music, till, aroused by its sudden cessation, she looked up, and saw a boat half checked in its speed, and Major Fane and Jack Vavasour doffing their billy-cock hats.

Cecil’s return bow was freezing, and Major Fane, who had rested irresolutely a moment on his oars, shot the boat on with vigorous pulls.  She felt half penitent as she saw his discomfited face, but her coldness arose from having become alive to a possible danger.

Colonel Rolleston had lately very frequently asked him to dinner, even when there was no one else, and he always fell to her share to entertain.  Now Major Fane was a very good match in every way,—­quite what parents and guardians would approve; so, thought Cecil,—­“I can’t have any mistakes about that, or it will only settle papa against Bertie.”

“Did you summon those two from this vasty deep, Lilla?” cried she.  “But, I forgot; I don’t think either of them sail under your flag.”

“My colours are too rakish and privateerish for Major Fane; and as for Jack, I am afraid he has the bad taste to prefer Bluebells to Lilies.”

“If you think him worth your acceptance,” said Bluebell “I will make you a present of him.”

“He may be yours to keep, my dear, but not to give away.  At present I am not ‘on for matrimony,’ and, to flirt with, I don’t know any one better fun than Bertie Du Meresq.”

The other girls were both too conscious to reply to this audacious remark, and after awhile they resumed fishing, Lilla’s gaudy bait still unsuccessful, though Cecil had landed one or two pike.  Bluebell grew tired of rowing steadily to keep her companion’s line extended, and persuaded her to wind it up; then Lilla took the sculls, and they fell into conversation.

“Were you at that tobogganing party where Captain Du Meresq hurt his ankle?” asked Bluebell, diligently examining the corolla of a water-lily.

“Why?” was the counter inquiry.

“Because I never heard how it happened.”

“How was that?” said Lilla, launching into narrative.  At the close of it she said,—­“Cecil pulled him through that time.  I shouldn’t have thought nursing much in her line; but she was very hard hit, you know, and I rather wondered Bertie didn’t propose before he left so suddenly.  Very likely he did though.”

Bluebell’s eyes opened in horror at this unpalatable suggestion.  “What are you dreaming of, Lilla?” gasped she.  “Cecil! why she looks upon him as an uncle or something.”