When her task was done she went back to her sofa again; there she was safe, for all Bruce’s devotion to his ladye-love and stubbornness of character could not give him courage enough to affront, at close quarters, the mingled dislike and scornful humor that played round Flora’s lips, and gleamed in her eyes like summer lightning.  He had to retreat upon Lady Catharine, who, thinking him hardly used, in her inextinguishable charity exerted herself to entertain him.

We were all glad when that first evening was over, and we got into the smoking-room, whither Mr. Bruce was not entreated to follow.  It was always an augury of foul weather in Livingstone’s temper when, instead of the decent evening cigar, he smoked the short black brule-gueule, loaded to the muzzle with cavendish.  He sat thus for some minutes, rolling out stormy puffs from under his mustache, and then broke out,

“I haven’t an idea what to do with him” (there was no need to name the object of his thoughts); “I made up my mind to risk a horse or two, for, of course, he would have broken their knees; but when I offered him a mount, he thanked me and said, ‘He didn’t hunt.’  It would have got him away from home, at all events.  Poor Bella! how heavy on hand she will find him.”

“Ah! and he might have come to a timely end over timber; Providence does interfere so benevolently sometimes.”  This was Forrester’s pious reflection.

“Well, that’s over,” Guy went on.  “He must shoot, though; every one shoots, or thinks he does.  We have all the pheasants to kill yet (by-the-by, Fallowfield comes over on Thursday for the Home Wood); that will keep him employed for some time; but it’s only putting off the evil day.  My match-making aunt, of blessed memory, how much she has to answer for!  I hate to think of Bella’s mignonne face alongside of that flinty-cheeked Scotchman’s.”

“Don’t be angry, Guy,” suggested Charley, with some diffidence; “but, if it’s not an impertinent question, do you think he ever tries to kiss your cousin?”

“I never thought of that,” replied Livingstone, not without an oath; “there’s another pleasant reflection.  No, I should think not.  He is ceremonious, to give the devil his due.  I’ll find out to-morrow, though, without making Bella blush.  Miss Bellasys is sure to know.  I saw them exchanging confidences all this evening, and I am certain there were instigations to rebellion.  Flora would delight in an emeute; she’s a perfect Red Republican, that girl.”

“The opposition seems organizing,” I remarked; “ministers will find themselves soon, I fear, without a working majority.”

“Not unlikely,” said Guy, filling another pipe; “but they won’t resign.  Some men never know when they are beaten.  Well, he who lives will see.  If this wind lasts, we shall have a cracker from Lilbourne to-morrow.  You ride the young one, don’t you, Charley?”

CHAPTER XII.