But it was Janet's turn to be angry, when, at tea that evening, utterly oblivious of the vacant chair next herself, her faithless swain manoeuvred into one next Bluebell.
"Are you fond of music by moonlight?" he took the first opportunity of whispering.
"I like it anywhere," replied she, innocently. "I can't say I ever heard it by moonlight."
Much discomfited, Alec gazed incredulously, and then burst out laughing.
Bluebell naturally inquired what she had said to amuse him; but he evaded the question, as Janet was evidently listening. Later on, when the former was at the piano, and he pretending to turn over, he whispered,—"I wonder under whose window I was making such a lovely noise the other night?"
"How should I know? And why did you do it?"
"I wanted to give you a welcome to the Lake; but perhaps I serenaded that vinegar-faced governess instead."
Bluebell was playing rather a pathetic sonata; but the time got decidedly erratic, as she stared bewildered at Alec, and then went off into a fit of laughing. "How could you be such a goose? If Colonel Rolleston had been at home, he would have fired his ten-shooter at you."
"Tell me which is your window," he whispered, "and I'll give you plenty of music by moonlight. I hope it is the one with the balcony."
"Why?"