“Oh, thank you,” said the other distantly.  “Isn’t it right?  Never mind.  Dressing is such a waste of time.”

“Hugger-muggering with Bernard is not, I suppose?” thought Bluebell, resolutely continuing her task.

But it was Janet’s turn to be angry, when, at tea that evening, utterly oblivious of the vacant chair next herself, her faithless swain manoeuvred into one next Bluebell.

“Are you fond of music by moonlight?” he took the first opportunity of whispering.

“I like it anywhere,” replied she, innocently.  “I can’t say I ever heard it by moonlight.”

Much discomfited, Alec gazed incredulously, and then burst out laughing.

Bluebell naturally inquired what she had said to amuse him; but he evaded the question, as Janet was evidently listening.  Later on, when the former was at the piano, and he pretending to turn over, he whispered,—­“I wonder under whose window I was making such a lovely noise the other night?”

“How should I know?  And why did you do it?”

“I wanted to give you a welcome to the Lake; but perhaps I serenaded that vinegar-faced governess instead.”

Bluebell was playing rather a pathetic sonata; but the time got decidedly erratic, as she stared bewildered at Alec, and then went off into a fit of laughing.  “How could you be such a goose?  If Colonel Rolleston had been at home, he would have fired his ten-shooter at you.”

“Tell me which is your window,” he whispered, “and I’ll give you plenty of music by moonlight.  I hope it is the one with the balcony.”

“Why?”

“Because,” said Alec, audaciously, “you would look so beautiful stepping out on it, like Julia in ‘Guy Mannering.’  And we could talk, you know.”

“Very well,” said Bluebell, who opined it was about time to shut him up.  “Suppose we refer it to Miss Cameron.  I understand your heart and accomplishments are all made over to her.  Perhaps she would assist at the balcony scene!”

Alec bit his lip, and looked rather ashamed.  Such a rebuff would not have embarrassed Bertie, nor awakened in him a slumbering conscience, as it did in this young lumberer, who was ridiculous enough to be in earnest in his infidelity.

But Bluebell, knowing she had no quarter to expect from the girls if she returned to them now, was far from wishing to bring him to a sense of his duty before the evening was over, so smiled as engagingly as ever, and continued to accept his attentions, till Janet, fizzing in high dudgeon, announced her intention of going home, which, of course, involved the escort of her recreant young man.

“Wait here a quarter of an hour,” whispered Alec to Bluebell, “and I will run back and row you home.”

“Gracious, no!” said she, with rather the sensation of a child who has been sent out to spend the afternoon and has misbehaved.  “Here is Mrs. Rolleston’s servant come for me.  Go back with Miss Janet and make it up, for I am never going to speak to you again,”—­and she turned away to make her adieux to Mrs. Palmer, a motherly-looking old lady, who had been nodding half asleep on the sofa all the time.