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