I suppose she was, for she certainly was rather solicitous about her toilette for the occasion—­only an innocent brown-holland dress; but two hours were spent in knotting up some wicked blue bows for throat and hair, and re-trimming her gipsy hat with the same shade.  It is, of course, an undoubted fact that women dress for their own satisfaction only, and in accordance with their instincts of “the true and the beautiful;” so it would be mere hypercritical carping to suspect coquetry of lurking in the deft folds of that unpretending blue ribbon, or that, in the face of her grande passion for Du Meresq, she could for a moment occupy herself with the foolish admiration of Alec and Bernard.

Well, Bluebell is our heroine, and we must make the best of her,—­to some people admiration never does come amiss; and if a demure oeillade can play the mischief with the too inflammable of the rougher sex, I don’t know who is to be held accountable except the father of lies.

“Palmer’s Landing” was a less original building than Lyndon’s but on a more accessible side of the lake.  The establishment and furniture were of the rough-and-ready order.  When a too independent help, finding her mistress didn’t suit, gave herself an hour’s warning, and went up North, Coey or Crickey would resignedly cook the family meals till an opportunity arrived to get another, and as, in addition to those occasional calls upon them, they were their own dressmakers, they had less time to get discontented with the monotony of the lake than might otherwise have been the case.

Bluebell was taken round by the two girls to visit their garden and poultry-yard.  The latter was a source of profit, as they supplied the house, and drove hard bargains with their mother for the chickens and eggs.  She also was shown their own room, and the rose-wreathed, green tarlatane, which Miss Crickey explained with conscious pride she was to wear at a city assembly next week.  “I am to stay with my uncle—­he has a large dry-good-store at ——­, but he lives on Brock.”  She was also warned off trespassing by the full account of Coey’s engagement, and by that time Bernard had arrived to escort the girls for a ramble in the woods.

Crickey, on the principle of doing as she would be done by, marched Bluebell on in front, so that the others might linger behind, and make love upon the usual pattern.  It was customary at the lake for to tuck their fiancees under their arm, and cast incessant sheep’s eyes at them, much conversation was not de rigueur.

Bernard, however, was somewhat discontented:  he thought there were innumerable opportunities for that kind of thing; so his eyes wandered from the face of his love to Bluebell’s round waist and waving hair.  Instead of incessantly squeezing her arm, he barely held it, and finally dropped it to remove a briar from the skirt of his distractor.

Bluebell smiled with her big blue eyes, perhaps more gratefully than the service demanded, which encouraged the youth to commence conversation.  The few platitudes he attempted might have been the most sparkling wit from the animation with which they were received.  Surprised to find himself so agreeable, he lingered by her side.  Crickey, expecting him every minute to fall back, remained by Bluebell, so poor Coey trudged behind, and began to experience what jealousy was.