a low voice that no one attended to it. A minute later, she tried
again,--"I hope Captain Du Meresq is better."

"How red you have got, 'Boobell!'" said Freddy. "Look, mamma!"

"What did you say, my dear--Bertie? Oh, yes, he is very lame still; but
he was obliged to go yesterday."

The sudden colour left Bluebell's cheek, and she sat for some minutes in
a relaxed, drooping attitude, oblivious of all around, till becoming
sensible of Cecil's gaze rivetted on her. It was a cold satirical
expression, at the same time inquiring. Bluebell was very unhappy; but
this roused her, and, raising her head, she looked her enemy steadily in
the eyes, with a bitter smile.

She never, strange to say, suspected Cecil of being a rival, merely
supposing she was carrying on the family politics; and wounded by her
officiously hostile demeanour, as she considered it, resolved no trace of
her sufferings should ever be witnessed by this cold friend.

And thus it happened that the topic was jealously avoided by each;
though, with mutual occupation and amusements, they became friendly
again, now the disturber of their amicability was removed.

Bertie and Cecil had been inseparable the last week. His premature
exertion in calling at the cottage had thrown him back; and really ill,
and, in enforced inaction, he could not bear her out of his sight.

So day after day Cecil passed in the smoking-room, only hurrying out for
a short drive or constitutional; and half-repaid by the gloomy complaint,
"How long yon have been!" when she re-entered.

Du Meresq's correspondence, too, as we have before hinted, was not
calming. A half-indignant letter from a friend whose temporary
accommodation had not been repaid, a bill at three months wanting
renewing, a tailor threatening the extremest rigours of the law, and
similar literature, familiar to a distressed man, was punctually brought
by the Post-office orderly for his delectation.

"You seem interested, Cecil," said he, as, with the uncerimoniousness of
a trusted _confidante_, she glanced through the variations of the same
text. "Do you young ladies ever get up behind each other, and back each
other's bills?"

"You haven't opened some, Bertie; and they are not all bills."

"You can, if it amuses you," hobbling across the room. "Why, Cecil, my
foot is almost sound again. We'll drive somewhere this afternoon,
anyhow."

"See what the doctor says. Look here, Bertie, here's a letter marked
private, s