and will not endure."

His daughter's brow was knitted with thought. Bluebell was evidently in
distress at going, but that it had any reference to Jack she totally
disbelieved. A latent suspicion revived, and her face grew pained and
hard. It was near dinner time, but, instead of going up to dress, she
turned into a little smoking room to ponder it out. What motive could
Bluebell have had to avow a perfectly fictitious love affair with
Vavasour, unless it was to throw dust in Mrs. Rolleston's eyes and blind
her to, perhaps, some underhand flirtation with Bertie? Cecil's
affection for her friend received a severe wrench directly she admitted
such a possibility, and then, as she meditated, two or three incidents,
too slight to be noticed at the time, rose up to confirm it.

"Forewarned, forearmed, if that is your game, Miss Bluebell," thought
she, resolving for the future to watch narrowly. At this moment Du
Meresq, whistling 'Ah, che la morte,' burst into the room.

"Cecil here, all in the dark? Light a candle, there's a good girl, I want
my cigar case. I'm awfully late".

"Who is the Leonore you are whistling _addio_ to?" said she complying.

"I don't know, the air is running in my head."

"I thought it might be Bluebell, she is going to-morrow."

The match went out, so she could not see the expression of Bertie's face.

"How do you mean?" said he quietly.

"They think Lubin destructive to her peace of mind, so she is to go home
for a fortnight. Singular idea, isn't it."

"Bosh!" said Du Meresq, emphatically. "Well, I'm off. Good-night, Cecil."

CHAPTER X.

TOBOGGINING.

We are in love's land to-day.
Where shall we go?
Love, shall we start or stay?
Or sail--or row?
--Swinburne.

Bluebell thought that now Mrs. Rolleston had detected her secret, there
was no necessity to keep it from Cecil. They were in the habit of sitting
awhile, talking over their bed-room fire at night; and, though, of late,
they had scarcely been so intimate, the practice had not been
discontinued. So that evening she resolved to approach the subject with
Cecil. No doubt she would stand her friend, and be, as ever, generous and
sympathetic.

But, at the first outset, no icicle could be brighter and colder than
Miss Rolleston's manner, who kept her communication at arm's-length, as
it were, and refused to see any hardship in paying a filial visit for a
week or two.

"My dear Bluebell, you are