“To begin with!  You must stay here all the time—­make it head quarters, at any rate.  You have been travelling all the summer, and there’s nothing to do now.”

“Moose,” murmured Bertie.  “Ah! there’s Cecil.”

Cecil, skating hand-in-hand to the tune of “Paddle your own canoe,” was not sufficiently disengaged to remark her mother’s companion.  His eyes followed her with a keen, comprehensive glance, which Mrs. Rolleston observed complacently.

“Don’t you think her much improved?—­much prettier?” asked she.

“Skating always suits a well-made girl.  That black and scarlet get-up, too, is very becoming, but pretty—­hardly.”

“She is, however, very much admired,” said Mrs. Rolleston, warmly, for a step-mother.

“Ah!” cried Bertie, with a slight accent of bitterness, “reasons enough for that.  How well some of these girls skate!  Who is that shooting-star?”

The planet in question gyrated towards them, dropped on one knee on the platform for the relief of strained ankles, and, as she addressed Mrs. Rolleston, caught a look of decided admiration on Bertie’s face.

A Canadian girl is nothing if not self-possessed; she sustained the gaze with the most perfect calmness.

“Bluebell, this is my brother, Captain Du Meresq.  Cecil ought to rest; will you go and tell her to come here?”

“Who is that young beauty whom you addressed in the language of flowers?” asked he.

“Nonsense, Bertie! she is Freddy’s governess.  You must not begin to talk absurdity to her; you will annoy Edward.”

“He don’t object to fair faces on his own account.”

“Well, this particular one is more bother than pleasure to him.  You know his horror of ‘danglers’; he is afraid of aimless flirtations with Bluebell, who, being also Cecil’s companion, is constantly in the drawing-room.”

“Ah, my beloved niece,” said Captain Du Meresq, as he gave Cecil considerable support from the ice to the platform.

“What has given us this unexpected treat?” said she, with a warmer hue than usual in her clear, pale cheek.

“My anxiety to see your new companion.”

“Whose existence, I suppose, you have just heard of.”

“It has been my loss,” retorted he.  “Fascinating young creature!  The name Bluebell just describes those wild hyacinth eyes.”

“Oh!  Bertie,” said his sister and Cecil together, “how absurd you are about girls.”

“And then,” persisted he, “that charming tawny hair and milk white skin.”

“One might think you were describing an Alderney cow.  It’s a pity she is not called ‘Daisy’ or ‘Cowslip.’”

“Girls are all alike,” said Captain Du Meresq, sententiously.  “Even you, my beloved Cecil, who are a woman of mind, can’t stand my wild admiration of—­Cowslip.”

Cecil raised her eyebrows, and a scornful beam shot from the dark eyes that were her chief attraction.