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."