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 really too childish. One would think it was to
be an eternal separation."
"It is evident you will not miss me much," said poor Bluebell, wounded,
and thankful she had not committed herself further.
"I should if Bertie were not here," answered Cecil, with heartless
intention. "But I really think this is the best time for you to be away,
for I am out so much with him, I see nothing of you. When he is gone,
Bluebell, and you have returned, we must begin to sing and read together,
as we used to do." This agreeable speech effectually quenched all
revelations on Bluebell's side, who, hurt and offended, took up a candle
and retired to her inner apartment.
"They are all alike," she thought; "and Bertie understood the matter
better than I did. Now, I suppose, they will try and prevent me ever
seeing him again. Girls in novels think it necessary to give up their
lovers if the family disapprove; the book always gets very dull then; but
Bertie has never yet given me the chance to act the high-minded heroine."
And then she fell to wondering why he had not said something really
definite, he seemed near it so often. And yet he was his own master; no
stern father loomed in the background--_that_ Bluebell would have
considered a possible obstacle,--for had she not seen such malign
influence destroy more than one promising love affair among her
companions. Of course there was no solution to such an inscrutable
mystery, though Bluebell tossed awake half the night in the effort to
find one.
Next morning they all met at breakfast as usual. No allusion was made to
her approaching departure. Afterwards, she attended to Freddy's nominal
lessons, packed her slender wardrobe, and then remained in her own room,
for the first time unwilling to go downstairs without an invitation. And
yet she grudged every hour that passed and brought the separation nearer.
She heard Bertie whistling about the house, so she would most likely see
him before starting--probably only at luncheon, though, which was the
children's dinner. A minute before the bell rang Bluebell descended, and
came full on Du Meresq in an angle of the staircase. She stopped
involuntarily. He was beside her with a smothered exclamation of
endearment, and an eager hand seeking hers. Had she dreamt it? The face
was impassive, the hand dropped, and a careless voice was saying,--
"Are you really going home this afternoon, Miss Leigh?"
At the same instant she observed Cecil's upturned eyes in the hall below
them. So she had the felicity of eating a cutlet in the presence of her
love, but received no aliment for her heart-hunger. Du Meresq was teazing
his nieces, and did not add much to the general conversation, but the
others made up for it, and, when they addressed Bluebell, did so in a
particularly cheery tone, as to a nervous, fanciful girl, not to be
encouraged or noticed in her blue fits. She had thought of walking home
late in the afternoon, still hoping that something might bring about some
last words with Du Meresq, or that he might even contrive to join her on
the road; but Mrs. Rolleston, in the tone of one proposing a pleasure,
said she would drive her back herself, and that the sleigh was ordered in
half-an-hour.
Bluebell, goaded to mild exasperation, glanced hastily to where Bertie
had been sitting, but he had left the room unperceived.
The sleigh was at the door, so also was Captain Du Meresq, smoking an
after-luncheon cigar. I grieve to say my heroine displayed not a particle
of self-respect as, pale and dejected, she seated herself by Mrs.
Rolleston. Indeed, the blue eyes were beginning to swim, when they were
dried by a flash of indignation at the parting words of Du Meresq. He
merely raised his hat, without attempting to shake hands, and said, in a
jesting tone,--"_Au revoir_, Miss Bluebell. I hope you will be a comfort
to your mamma."
As the jingle of the bells died away in the distance, Cecil felt a load
removed from her heart. Bluebell had become an object of uncomfortable
surmises, and her absence was an inexpressible relief.
She had a fair field now, and Bertie all to herself, and did not intend
to spoil the present with tormenting suspicions of the past.
"Probably he _may_ have flattered Bluebell at odd times, and turned her
head; but Bertie, though he will talk nonsense to anybody who will listen
to him, cares for something more than a pretty face. He will forget her
directly she is out of sight, for there really is nothing in her."
Thus severely did Cecil reflect on the friend she had been the means of
bringing into the house, and had loved all the more for the kindnesses
she had been able to show her. But, then, who could have foreseen that
the _protégéé_ would turn into a rival?
Her meditations were interrupted by the chief subject of them.
"What do you intend doing, Cecil, this afternoon?"
"It is very unsettling, people going away," said she, serenely. No
occasion to let him see the satisfaction it gave her. "Shall we go and
skate at the Rink, presently?"
"Oh, ain't you sick of that place? Let us order your cutter, and look in
on the Armstrongs' toboggining party?"
"Enchanting!" said Cecil, brightening. "But, dear me! it will be nearly
over."
"Not if you look sharp. 'Wings' will take us there in half-an-hour; it
isn't five miles to the hill. Don't forget to leave your crinoline
behind."
Du Meresq rang the bell, and Cecil re-appeared in a few minutes, innocent
of her "_sans reflectum_," and in a clinging black velveteen suit, with a
golden oriole in her cap, and a scarf of the same hue knotted about her
waist.
"None so dusty," said Bertie, approvingly. "You look best in daring
colours, Cecil."
Personal praise from Du Meresq, however expressed, was not unwelcome to
Cecil, who was sensitively alive to her want of beauty. But she answered,
carelessly,--"Just a refuge for the destitute. I can't wear pale shades,
or blue or green."
"No, my bright brunette; but that Satanic mixture does not misbecome
you,"--and he murmured the words in "May Janet,"--
"The first town they came to there was a blue bride chamber,
He clothed her on with silk, and belted her with amber."
"Come and help me down with the toboggin, Bertie. It is a-top of the
book-shelf,"--and they dragged down a mysterious structure of maple wood,
having the appearance of a plank six feet long by two wide, and turned up
at one end. It had red cord reins, and Cecil's monogram, neatly painted,
on the outside.
"We must show off our smart toboggin, I suppose; though where on earth we
can put it in the cutter I can't think," said Du Meresq.
"I had rather hold it on my lap than not take it. Here comes
'Wings,'"--and a high-stepping American horse, bought out of a sulky,
as not sufficiently justifying his name for racing purposes, dashed up
to the door with the smallest and prettiest cutter in the city. The robes
were white wolf-skins, bordered with black bear. The one hanging from the
back exhibited a bear's head and claws on the white ground. Both robes
and bells were mounted in scarlet and white; and the masks of two owls
occupied the place of rosettes on "Wings'" head-stall.
"Well," said Bertie, "we are, luckily, not in Hyde Park; and I suppose a
sleigh can't be too bizarre. Is this the creation of your festive fancy,
Cecil?"
"Yes; I don't disown it. I sent a coloured sketch of what I wanted to
Gaines, and he found fur and everything. 'Wings' was bought in an auction
last month. He went cheap, because they never could teach him the correct
'racking' action. Papa advised me to have him, as he thought he would
carry me in the summer, and I have no other horse."
"I'll tell you what, Cecil; we must extend our wings if we are to be in
time. Canter him across the common, there's a capital track."
"Can't he go!" said she, exultingly, as on a hard, frozen surface they
sped along. "We rush through the air so silently that if it were not for
the bells one might fancy oneself flying."
"Yes," said Bertie; "I have known more unpleasant sensations than being
driven ten miles an hour by a fair lady--a dark one, I should say."
"Given the lady. I don't think you much care whom it may chance to be,
Bertie."
"If a woman is pretty, to me it's no matter
Be she blonde or brunette, so she let me look at her."
"Were you thinking of those lines in 'Lucille'?"
"Them's your sentiments to a T, I should say."
"And you ought to have lived in the days when the knight had 'Une seule'
embroidered on his banner. I'll never believe that his loves were so
limited; doubtless each appropriated the invidious distinction to
herself."
"I know one knight," said Cecil, "who would give them plenty of reason to
do so."
"Fancy," continued Bertie "riding in full armour to a crossroad, and
challenging every one to single combat who declined to acknowledge his
particular fair to be queen of love and beauty, and that no one else
should hold a candle to her! Now we should think it great impertinence in
a fellow to offer his opinion about her at all."
"No," laughed Cecil, "such public proclamation would never suit these
inconsistent days."
"Can you not believe yourself 'Une seule,' Cecil, even in these days?"
returned he, meaningly and tenderly.
"That would depend on my knight," said she, blushing, and uncertain how
to take it. "I should not care to live in a Fool's Paradise."
"If it were Paradise, why analyze the wisdom of it?" said Bertie, gazing
with surprised admiration at her radiant face, that kindled as with some
hidden fire.
"I could do without him," answered she, "but if he were worth caring for
I wouldn't share him with any one."
"I hope Fane isn't 'Un seul,' Cecil. For a young lady with such severe
ideas of constancy, you were pretty thick at the sleighing-party."
There was something in this speech that annoyed Cecil, who turned it off
with a short answer. It might have been that she did not like him so
composedly contemplating such a possibility.
Du Meresq said no more, perhaps because they were approaching the
toboggin hill, or perhaps, like Dr. Johnson, he had nothing ready.
Cecil was sorry they were so near. She felt more interested in the
conversation than in the party, and gazed wistfully down a by road that
would have led them in an opposite direction.
"I wish I dare turn sharp off," thought she. "But, no! we are
conventional beings. This idiotic performance is the goal and object
of our expedition. I am driving, and must do nothing so indecently
eccentric."
So she gave "Wings" a flick with her whip, that sent him up to his bit
with his knees in his mouth, and they drew rein on the edge of the snow
mountain.
Miss Tremaine's bright face was just on a level with the top, drawing up
her own toboggin.
"Here's this dear little Lily," said Bertie.
"Your diminutives are curiously applied," said Cecil. "That is a very
substantial _petite_."
"How late you are," cried Miss Tremaine, rushing up to them. 'Wings,' who
couldn't bear waiting, began to rear. "Gracious, Cecil, does he feed on
yeast-powder to make him 'rise' so? How do you do, Captain Du Meresq?
Come along; there's some capital jumps. Here's my little brother will
hang on to the horse's head till we find some one else, if you are sure
'Wings' will not soar away with him, like an eagle with a lamb."
"I'd better billet him on that farm," said Du Meresq, driving off.
"And I must go and speak to Mrs. Armstrong," said Cecil.