"You wouldn't think it was snowing from my cloak," cried she. "It is
though--quite a heavy fall, if you can call anything so light heavy. We
were quite white when we came in, but it shakes off without wetting."

"It won't be very good sleighing, then, to-morrow, and the wind is
getting up, too."

"And what have you been doing, Bluebell?"

"I walked with the children and Miss Prosody in the Queen's Park," said
the latter, rather dolefully.

"And it was very cold and stupid, I suppose?" said Cecil, kindly. "Come
down to the drawing-room and try some duets."

There were two or three visitors below and Bertie, and some tea was
coming in. They were looking at a picture of Cecil's just returned from
being mounted as a screen. It was a group of brilliant autumn leaves--the
gorgeous maple, with its capricious hues, an arrow-shaped leaf, half red,
half green, like a parrot's feather, contrasting with another "spotted
like the pard," and then one blood-red. The collecting of them had been
an interest to the children in their daily walks, and Cecil had arranged
them with artistic effect.

One of the visitors was a rather pretty girl, whom Bluebell had known
formerly. She gave her, however, only a distant bow, while she answered
with the greatest animation any observation of Captain Du Meresq's. This
young lady was to be one of the sleighing party next day, and, as far as
she could admit such a humiliating fact, was trying to convey to him,
that she was as yet unappropriated for any particular sleigh.