Sheltered from the bleak wind the walk on the crisp track was enjoyable
enough; the "strange eyes," being now on a line with and not confronting
her, were less embarrassing, and the slight awe she still felt of him
only gave a piquancy to the companionship.

"Are you not very glad we came this way?" Bertie was saying.

"If we had only snow-shoes," cried the breathless Bluebell, for the third
time slipping into a drift, but struggling out before Du Meresq could do
more than catch her hand.

"Poor little fingers! how cold they are," trying to put them in with his
own into his large beaver gloves.

"Oh, I wish you would be sensible," stammered Bluebell, much confused.

"What's the use of being sensible," retorted he, "when it is so much
pleasanter being otherwise? Time enough for that when anybody's by."

But Bluebell wrenched her hand away, bringing off the glove, which she
threw on the snow.

"Is that a challenge, Miss Bluebell? Must take up the gauntlet? Good
gracious, my dear child, you are not really annoyed? Well, we will be
sensible, as you call it. Only you must begin; I don't know how."

"Evidently," said Bluebell, very tartly, drawing as far away as the
exigencies of the track would admit. She could hold her own well enough
with the young subalterns she had hitherto flirted with, but this man was