say you would think him hideous," with a conscious
laugh.

Miss Opie coughed suspiciously. "It is unfortunate," said she, "when you
are in such a pleasant situation, that any disturbing element should
enter. I hope, Bluebell, you will be very circumspect in your demeanour
towards this gentleman."

"What," said Bluebell, in demure imitation of her manner, "would you
consider an appropriate attitude for me to assume towards him?"

"These fine Captains are too fond of turning young girls' heads," said
Miss Opie, shaking her own; "'leading captive silly women,' as we read.
If he attempt any foolish, trifling conversation, you should check it
with cold civility."

Bluebell burst into an irreverent fit of laughter, and even Mrs. Leigh
said,--"Oh, those are your English ideas, Aunt Jane; we are not so stiff
in Canada."

Mrs. Opie having been a governess for ten years in the mother country,
was looked upon as a naturalized Briton.

"I think the old country must be very dull," said Bluebell. "Miss Prosody
is always pursing up her mouth and bridling if I laugh and talk with any
of the officers; and one day I distinctly overheard her whisper to the
Colonel,--'very forward,' and nod towards me."

"It is, however, well to profit by such remarks," returned Miss Opie;
"there is doubtless some truth in them, however unpalatable."

"But," urged the girl, "Colonel Rolleston can't _bear_ one to be silent
or dull; he always asks if one isn't well; and I shouldn't think you
could call Captain Du Meresq a flirt. Why, he has hardly spoken ten words
to me yet,"--but a sudden glow came to her cheeks as she remembered how
many he had looked.

"Well, well, I was only warning you. Fetch the backgammon board; your
mother has won seven games and I nine since you went."

Bluebell complied, and, settling the ladies on either side of a
papier-mache table, opened the piano, and began dreamily playing through
the music of the night before. Trove, finding the door ajar, had pushed
in, and lay near the instrument, listening in that strange way some dogs
do if the tones come from the heart, and not merely the fingers.

Having got through the last evening's _repertoire,_ she sat musing on the
music-stool, and then crooned rather low an old song of her mother's,
beginning,--

"They tell me thou art the favoured guest
In many a gay and brilliant throng;
No wit like thine to wake the jest,
No voice like thine to raise the song."