"Drive to the devil, then. I mean, drive about as long as you can. I like driving."
"Hush, Bertie! how can you? What will he think?"
"How much 'old rye' he will get out of the job. Come, Bluebell; the hour is ours, don't spoil it fidgetting about trivialities. I have scarcely dared to look at you yet, my beautiful pet," trying to steal an arm round her waist. But she drew herself away, irresponsive and rigid, being uneasy and frightened at the escapade she had been led into.
"You haven't a spark of moral courage, Bluebell," said Bertie, impatiently. "You are as prim and unlike yourself as possible, just because you are wondering what that man on the box will think. Or, perhaps, you are afraid of that thin, sour old duenna at home."
"She will be inquisitive enough," said Bluebell, resignedly. "And, Bertie, I wanted to tell you, but, perhaps, you know, that they will never have me again at the 'Maples' while you are there,—Mrs. Rolleston so utterly disapproves of it."
"What is this hallucination that you have got hold of?" said Du Meresq. "What did you tell, or fancy you told, Bella?"
"We got on the subject. Your name wasn't actually mentioned; but she quite understood, and said something," said Bluebell, reddening as she felt the awkwardness of her words, "very strong against it."
Bertie looked relieved. He began to understand the mistake, which he considered a fortunate one.
"And did you promise to give me up?"
She turned her large, innocent eyes upon him. "How could I, when I care more for you than anything in the world?"