A deep, calm satisfaction stole over her as Bertie helped her from the boat, and his eyes sought hers under the stars. She heeded not that Colonel Rolleston's greeting was apparently cool and formal, nothing signified—life had suddenly become intense again. What could ruffle the golden content of the present? Happiness is a great beautifier, and as she sprang to shore, her graceful figure so undulating and spirited, and her soul beaming warm in her radiant eyes, he wondered that he could ever have thought Bluebell more beautiful. She often recurred to him hereafter just as she stood that night, shrouded in a crimson Colleen Bawn, under cover of which her hand remained so long in his.
Du Meresq did not stay very late. Both he and Cecil were quiet and dreamy. To be in the same room again was quite happiness enough for the present. Mrs. Rolleston also was entirely satisfied, diverted her husband's attention with creature comforts, and made no effort to detain Bertie. Given a love affair, and a certain interest in it, the most unscheming nature becomes Macchiavellian in tact and policy.
And Du Meresq unmoored a canoe and paddled himself off, unwitting of a young, desolate face pressed against an upper casement. From thence she had watched him waiting for Cecil at the landing, and, with eyes sharpened by anxiety, had detected their happiness in meeting. She could not go down to receive confirmation of what required none. Better receive the coup de grâce from his own lips than to undergo gradual vivisection while looking helplessly on.
Bluebell was young and credulous, her heart had been flattered away by this man, who had had so many before and did not want it now, and yet, poor child, could she have looked beyond, she might have seen cause for thankfulness that the thing most hotly desired was withheld for this early love had not root enough for the wear and tear of life. It was a hob day romance, born of the senses, the bewildering fascination of a graceful presence and winning voice, and well for her if her guardian angel stood with even a flaming sword in the way.
The two girls did not meet till the morning, when Cecil, preoccupied as she was, could not but notice the blanched weariness of Bluebell's face which, owing a great deal of its beauty to colouring, appeared by contrast almost plain.
"You should have come up the Saguenay with us. I am sure Rice Lake cannot agree with you," said she, launching into a glowing and graphic description of their adventures. In reality, Cecil had detested the whole expedition, having been in a continual fever to return; but, now that her mind was at ease, memory brought out the notable points in a surprising way, and she quite talked herself into believing that she had enjoyed it immensely, and had witnessed everything with the utmost relish and curiosity.
They were sitting in the garden over-looking the lake, and a tiny sail shot out from the hotel landing and stood towards them. A light stole over the face of the brunette, but the features of the blonde became rigid as they marked its progress. Neither alluded to the circumstance—Cecil continued her narrative, and Bluebell made the requisite replies; but when the boat had made Lyndon's Landing, and Du Meresq and Lascelles jumped out, Cecil found she was receiving them alone.
The latter was come on a farewell call. The two friends meant to sail to a railway station five miles up the lake, where Lascelles would take the car, and Du Meresq bring the canoe back. After a short visit, Mrs. Rolleston and Cecil strolled down to see them off.
"I have never tried the canoe with a sail up," remarked the latter. "With this wind it must be absolutely flying."
"Not quite so dry," said Lascelles, laughing. "Du Meresq is such a duffer; he ships a lot of water."