Bluebell was secretly tired of him, and could not conceive on what principle her mother began pressing him to stay.
"There's the nicest bit of toasted cheese coming up for supper," said she. "I know all officers like a Welsh rabbit. My poor late husband did, though he used to say, in his funny way, he only ate it because there was nothing else fit to touch."
"I fear I must go; but I hope you'll ask me to tea again, Mrs. Leigh, it is so jolly getting away from mess sometimes," said the young diplomatist.
"That I will," said she, highly flattered, "and I shall be very much offended if you don't come. I am only sorry you can't sit a little longer now."
Jack was not quite sure he couldn't, but Bluebell, pretending not to see his hesitation, held out her hand and said "good-night," so he had nothing for it but to go. In two minutes, though, his head re-appeared. "Come and look at the Northern Lights, Miss Leigh; regular tip-top fireworks. Here's a shawl; make haste." But when she come out, only a few weak-coloured pink clouds were floating about.
"Is that all?" ejaculated Bluebell.
"Not quite," said Jack; "it was a western light I was trying to invoke, or, rather, the light of my eyes. When may I come and see you, Bluebell?"
"I came out to look at meteors," said she, laughing at his unwonted flowers of speech; "and I don't know who gave you leave to call me by my Christian name."
"It isn't your Christian," urged Jack.
"It will be my nom de guerre, then, if you say it again."