Bluebell - A Novel by Mrs. George Croft Huddleston
page 30 of 430 (06%)
page 30 of 430 (06%)
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The time I've lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing The light that lies In woman's eyes, Has been my heart's undoing. --Moore. "Bluebell," said little Lola, bursting into the nursery, where Freddy, rather a tyrant in his affections, had insisted on her singing him to sleep, "Ma says you have got to dine down to-night, and Miss Prosody, too. Won't she be in a way, for her white muslin never came home from the wash, and she had begun altering the _barège_; so I asked Felda to tell her," said Lola, diplomatically. "Do you know Bertie has come?" (His nieces never prefaced his name with the formality of uncle.) "Oh of course, you must have seen him at the Rink. Do you like him? He is sure to like you, at first, at any rate," said Lola, who apparently, like other lookers-on saw most of the game. "And don't tell, but I believe he hates Miss Prosody." "Why?" asked Bluebell, absently. "Well, one day he was whispering to Cecil, with their heads very near together. Miss Prosody was looking for a book in a recess behind the door, close to them; but they never saw her till she moved away, and I heard Bertie mutter something about an 'inquisitive old devil.' But don't tell, mind. There's the bell; I must go to tea," _Exit_ Lola, and Bluebell flew off with some alacrity to her bed-room to prepare. |
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