The cousins were sitting on an ottoman, in half-teazing, half-affectionate discourse, when Bluebell, feeling like a conspirator of the deepest dye, entered demurely with her pupils. Kate watched Harry narrowly, who did not appear to have observed their entrance.
"You seem to have forgotten Miss Leigh," she remarked. "Did you not travel together from Quebec?"
Dutton, somewhat staggered by her correct information, shot a swift inquiring glance at his cousin.
"To be sure—so it is Miss Leigh. I thought last night I knew the face—"
"Why don't you go and speak to her?"
"I am shy—perhaps she won't remember me."
"Miss Leigh, Mr. Dutton thinks you have forgotten him."
Bluebell bowed stiffly, very much on her guard; for she saw that Lord Bromley was an attentive observer, and his strange behaviour in the morning had given rise to an uncomfortable suspicion that he might (though how, she could not imagine) be cognizant of the tryst in the West Wood. Harry moved to a seat near, and began an indifferent conversation with her, that the whole room might have heard.
"Can it be all—kid," thought Kate, "or was there really nothing between them?"
At that instant Sir Robert lounged up, and threw himself in a familiar manner on the other side of Bluebell.