she made no attempt to conceal her reluctance to going.

"How long must I stay away?" said she, dolefully.

"Just till the days get a little longer--a fortnight or three weeks,
perhaps."

Bluebell made a gesture of despair (Bertie would be gone to a certainty
by then), and looked the picture of misery. Mrs. Rolleston's suspicions
were now convictions.

"My dear Bluebell," she began, impulsively, "I know there's some reason
for your dislike to going," and she gazed fixedly at her. No denial.
Bluebell hoped Mrs. Rolleston _had_ some inkling of how things were with
her and Bertie, and had she then persisted might easily have forced her
confidence; which would have considerably enlightened and dismayed the
elder lady, whose mind, being full of Jack, had never dreamed of Bertie.

Mrs. Rolleston, however, rapidly decided it would never do to encourage
her to talk of the matter, and that she had better put her foot on it at
once.

"I have guessed your little _penchant_, dear, for some one we won't talk
about, for indeed, Bluebell, it never can come to any thing; you are both
too young and too poor. It would be a most undesirable connexion."

"She doesn't think me grand enough for her brother," suggested Bluebell's
wounded pride.

"And, therefore," pursued her Mentor, "absence is the best thing in these