"Change it if you like," quoth he, "if you will let me change your surname too."
A startled stare of blue eyes, a smothered laugh, and Bluebell had darted into the house, clapping the door after her.
"Confound it," thought Jack, "just my luck. In another moment I should have kissed her—I think I should; but, hang it, when a girl looks you straight in the face and talks to you as if you were her grandmother, it puts one off. Well, I have kissed lots of girls without proposing and now it's vice versa, for it was as good as an offer, and all I got by it was her nipping in just when I thought I had her to myself."
CHAPTER XIV.
THE TRYST.
Twas full of love—to rhyme with dove,
And all that tender sort of thing,
Of sweet and meet—and heart and dart,
But not a word about a ring!
Hood.
Time flew much lighter with our heroine as she counted the days to the next rendezvous with Du Meresq; anticipation is ever sweeter than reality. The cottage was no longer dull, nor existence empty, even the unrenewed and diminishing snow, dusky as a goose in a manufacturing town, was the symptoms of approaching spring and verdure. Who need think of the torrents of rain which must precede it? The little episode with Jack outside the door afforded her secret entertainment, and although she did not look upon it as a bona-fide proposal, that did not bias her intention of relating the anecdote for Bertie's delectation. It might be just as well to let him see if he couldn't speak out, others could, and if he were jealous, why so much the better.
Clouds were chasing each other in the sky, and the increased mildness of the atmosphere inspired Bluebell with the dread that rain was approaching, for a rendezvous under dripping umbrellas, if feasible, was not the most desirable pose for a romantic interview.