NORTHERN LIGHTS.
Do you remember
Those evenings in the bleak December,
Curtained warm from the snowy weather,
When you and I played chess together,
Checkmated by each other's eyes?
--The Wanderer.
Bluebell sped home, and, to evade remarks, hung up her hat in the
passage, as the least embarrassing way of reporting herself, then
remained, perdu, in her own room, transfigured into fairy-land by her
happy thoughts. Bertie was acquitted of intentional neglect. It was only
the malignity of Fate that had divided them; and there was the positive
anticipation of meeting again in six days. To be sure, it involved
entering on a course of deceit. Aunt Jane would, probably, be shocked, as
she was at everything; mamma would not think much of it; and as for Mrs.
Rolleston, she need not consider her wishes, after telling Bertie such a
bare-faced fib about Jack Vavasour, evidently in the hope of making
mischief between them. She was very much astonished at such unscrupulous
conduct in her friend, but what other conclusion could she come to?
To be sure, common-sense whispered that looks and language such as Du
Meresq had permitted himself, ought to be followed by an offer of
marriage; but with common-sense Bluebell had little to do at this period,
and first love cares not to concern itself with the prosaic. The mystery
and romance of interviews with her love, "undreamt-of by the world in its
primness," appeared far more enchanting than any authorized attachment
provided with a regulation gooseberry picker.
So she came down with a slightly defiant air; but meeting with nothing
worse than a gravely knowing glance from Miss Opie, sat down to the piano
to escape questioning.
Mrs. Leigh's thoughts were complacently occupied with the visitor. She
only wanted further confirmation to place him in the light of a future
son-in-law. Adversity had not given her the wisdom of the serpent, and
she never dreamed of possible danger in the attentions of this unknown
young man to her beautiful, but portionless, child.
However, her mind became unsettled again by the appearance of another
suitor, in dog-skin gloves of a brilliant tan, and his usual air of
cheerful confidence. No guile was there in Jack Vavasour, whose prostrate
adoration of her daughter was so undisguised, that she mentally deposed
Bertie (whose devotion was more problematical) in his favour. Still she
thought, "I should never think of influencing dear Bluebell one way or
the other, and we shall see which proposes first."
Jack's visit, as usual, was a lengthy one. His fair enslaver had
recovered her spirits, and no longer metaphorically turned her face to
the wall. She was glad of distraction, and not ungratified by his
allegiance, though without the slightest idea of returning it.
Like the boys and the frogs, she did not consider that what was sport to
the one was hard on the other, and probably would not have cared if it
had struck her; for, whatever poets may say, there is no more thoroughly
heartless age than sweet seventeen. When he sat on till the arrival of
the unappetizing meal they called a meat-tea, Bluebell did not wince at
her mother inviting him to join it, simply because his opinion was a
matter of indifference to her, though she carelessly recommended him not
to be late for mess.
Jack, however, with magnanimous disregard of that usually important
period of his day, stayed his healthy young appetite with the cold joint
from dinner; and he and Bluebell amused themselves frying eggs and
roasting chestnuts, which further assuaged its keen demands.
Many times during the evening did Mrs. Leigh leave the room, on the
principle that young people like to be alone together. But all her
tactics failed to uproot Miss Opie, who clung to her book and her seat
by the fire, partly from the contrary conviction that young persons
should _never_ be alone together, and partly because, save in the
kitchen, there was no other fire in the house.
"What shall we do?" cried Bluebell, with the faintest of yawns, tired
of consuming their culinary labours. "You don't care for music, I know.
There's an old chess-board somewhere; and I can't think of anything but
cat's-cradle, if you don't like that."
"I can play," said Jack, stoutly, who had not attempted it since his
childhood, but only wanted an excuse to remain on. So they sat down at
the spidery table, saying little; Jack quite well entertained with his
hand frequently coming in contact with Bluebell's on the board. He would
have liked to crush up that little member in his own, and meditated the
bold _coup_ more than once, but was always discouraged by that far away,
unconscious look in her eyes.
In this squalid parlour, where she was the only soft-hued thing in the
room, he thought her more beautiful than ever. Perhaps she was, for the
love-light burned steadily in her Irish eyes, and he could not tell it
was not for him.
Never were more lenient or careless adversaries. Twice Jack's queen was
in Bluebell's grasp uncaptured, and he could at any time have checkmated
her, had he been as attentive to the variations of the game as to those
of her countenance. Suddenly Bluebell swept her hand over the board,
crying,--"I never saw such men, they don't fight. We have been playing
half-an-hour, and have hardly taken any prisoners."
"It is a slow game," said Jack, equably; "let us try cat's-cradle. Or,
perhaps," he continued, meeting with no response, "I ought to be saying
good-night."
Bluebell was secretly tired of him, and could not conceive on what
principle her mother began pressing him to stay.
"There's the nicest bit of toasted cheese coming up for supper," said
she. "I know all officers like a Welsh rabbit. My poor late husband did,
though he used to say, in his funny way, he only ate it because there was
nothing else fit to touch."
"I fear I must go; but I hope you'll ask me to tea again, Mrs. Leigh,
it is so jolly getting away from mess sometimes," said the young
diplomatist.
"That I will," said she, highly flattered, "and I shall be very much
offended if you don't come. I am only sorry you can't sit a little longer
now."
Jack was not quite sure he couldn't, but Bluebell, pretending not to see
his hesitation, held out her hand and said "good-night," so he had
nothing for it but to go. In two minutes, though, his head re-appeared.
"Come and look at the Northern Lights, Miss Leigh; regular tip-top
fireworks. Here's a shawl; make haste." But when she come out, only a few
weak-coloured pink clouds were floating about.
"Is that all?" ejaculated Bluebell.
"Not quite," said Jack; "it was a western light I was trying to invoke,
or, rather, the light of my eyes. When may I come and see you, Bluebell?"
"I came out to look at meteors," said she, laughing at his unwonted
flowers of speech; "and I don't know who gave you leave to call me by
my Christian name."
"It isn't your Christian," urged Jack.
"It will be my _nom de guerre_, then, if you say it again."
"Change it if you like," quoth he, "if you will let me change your
surname too."
A startled stare of blue eyes, a smothered laugh, and Bluebell had darted
into the house, clapping the door after her.
"Confound it," thought Jack, "just my luck. In another moment I should
have kissed her--I _think_ I should; but, hang it, when a girl looks you
straight in the face and talks to you as if you were her grandmother, it
puts one off. Well, I have kissed lots of girls without proposing and now
it's _vice versa_, for it was as good as an offer, and all I got by it
was her nipping in just when I thought I had her to myself."