And Bluebell, all alone in her retreat, and each day passing without tidings, began to think she had over-estimated Harry's once troublesome adoration, and almost to doubt if he would ever return.
In truth, he was ashamed to write. The longer the confession was deferred, the harder it became; and he had now assigned himself a date. On receiving sailing orders to the Baltic, he would tell all, and make it, perhaps, a last request to his uncle to acknowledge his wife. In the mean time why plague himself about it? Things must take their course.
They were sitting one day in a pretty breakfast-room. Kate rather angry with her Colonel, who lingered on, always apparently at boiling point, yet never so far bubbling over as to commit himself in words. Harry, too, was looking actually interested in Geraldine, whose large, honest eyes were beaming with a sort of tender happiness. Lord Bromley was not in the room. Clearly he must be detached.
"Doesn't this dear old room remind you of childish days?" cried the artless damsel. "It used always to be summer or Christmas then; and we had tea here in such beautiful china, so different from the horrid school-room crockery."
"And sometimes we were so long over it, they couldn't clear away before the company passed through to dinner, and we got under the table to watch them," said Harry.
"And we used to put out the little sofas and jump over them, King Charles's beauties looking down on us from the wall so grand and gracious. And there was always mignonette and nemophila in window-boxes, so sweet in the evening air? And the honey? Oh, Harry, do you remember the honey?"
Her reminiscences succeeded in breaking up the tête-à-tête, and, lo! the wicked little dominant spirit who pulled the wires had indirectly influenced every one in the room. Harry, mesmerized by eye artillery, had dropped into confidential converse with Kate; Geraldine was suffering a serrement de coeur at being so lightly left; and the Colonel, his occupation gone, was reduced to twisting those tried friends in perplexity—his pendulous whiskers and moustache.
"How silly a hairy man looks drinking tea," Kate had whispered; "like a thirsty rat dipping its whiskers and tail in!"
A rather pleased expression pervaded Harry's countenance, which was as smooth as a billiard-ball. His cousin soon had him beautifully in hand, and then extorted a promise to do the thing he hated most, i.e., to escort her out hunting the following Friday. She hadn't the smallest intention of remaining with him after they found. Then she would ride with her Colonel, who acquitted himself more creditably in a hunting-field; but, as she was not allowed to start with him alone, it was necessary to impress Harry into her service.
"That's all settled," cried she, rising. "Remember, honour bright! And now go and talk to dear Geraldine, who looks as if she were going to cry." For Kate had heard Lord Bromley's step in the passage. He came in with Mr. Hobart, who had just returned from London. "Have you heard the news?" said the latter; "war is declared; the army, Guards and all, are ordered to the East, and the fleet is to go to the Baltic."