It had struck Bluebell that the game might have been a ruse of Du Meresq’s to get a word with her in private; but Estelle came up in fits of laughing, to tell her that Bertie and Crickey were hid together in the cupboard.  This was too much, and she walked coldly downstairs and out of the game.

Coey went in search of her sister, who bounded down directly after with a very red face; and soon Mrs. Rolleston came in, full of exclamations and inquiries.

Du Meresq said,—­“He and Lascelles had got a week’s leave, and had come to the hotel for some duck-shooting.”

“And Cecil won’t be back till Thursday,” said Mrs. Rolleston, regretfully.

The significance of this remark was not lost upon Bluebell, who stole a furtive glance at Bertie’s face.

“I thought I had got to an enchanted hall,” said he.  “I daren’t wind the horn lest I should fall under the spell.  The portal yielded to my touch, and I entered the first room, where conceive my surprise to see, fantastically dressed, and reclining in Eastern fashion on skins and cushions, a galaxy of beauty.  They were silent, too, except one, who, in a hushed, mysterious, voice, was improvising an allegory.”

“In short,” said Mrs. Rolleston, in a matter-of-fact tone, “the children were dressed up and telling stories.”  She began to wonder where Miss Prosody could be.  It was no use Bertie prejudicing his chance with Cecil by getting up an idle flirtation with these Lake young ladies, who were already blushing so ridiculously at him; and would have been further confirmed in this conviction had she guessed that ten minutes ago he had tried to kiss one of them in a cupboard.

She offered him a bed, but willingly accepted his excuse that Lascelles was all alone, and he had promised to go back, but would bring him to dinner next night.  And then he went away through the rain, and Bluebell was left with her thoughts.

Well she had never pictured such a meeting as that!  And how disagreeable it had all been.  Of course she did not mind his not having paid her much attention before the children, who repeated everything, but to go on in that silly romping away with Crickey was ineffably disgusting.  She did not at all recognise it as a poetical justice on her for tampering with other people’s lovers a few days before, but mentally denounced that young person as bold and unlady like to the last degree.

The evening continued so stormy, that Mrs. Rolleston kept the girls all night, and Bluebell, much against her will, had to entertain them, which was the more irksome as they were both expiring with curiosity about Bertie, and could talk of nothing but his extraordinary behaviour.  Crickey hadn’t even the sense to keep his impertinence in the cupboard to herself, and Bluebell, who had only suspected before, was provoked into the most trenchant expressions of condemnation.

“How could I help it?” asked Crickey, indignantly.  “How should I know he would be so impudent?”