"In fact every winter--if you'll kindly think about that too!" He got up with a merry ringing laugh. "God bless the frost! Let's have another shot at waltzing? You've inspired me--I believe I shall do it better!" He did it--a little better--and she ardently encouraged him; the slender supple strength of her figure resting against his arm seemed a help more than physical, almost, as he said, an inspiration. Yet presently he stopped, and would have her skate by herself again. "No, that's enough for this morning," she protested. Yet, when he begged, she could not but do as he asked once more; his praises fell so sweet on her ears. At the end she glided to him and held out her hands, putting them in his. "No more, no more! I--I feel too excited!" "So do I, somehow," he said, laughing, as he clasped her hands, and their eyes met in exultant joyfulness. "You've given me a new vision of you, Judith!" CHAPTER XXXIV THE LINES OF LIFE The glorious frost lasted a glorious week, generous measure for an English frost, and long enough for Arthur to make considerable improvement in the art of skating; since Margaret maintained her attitude of not caring about it, he had the benefit of the professor's undivided attention. Long enough too it lasted for the new vision to stamp itself deep on his mind. For companion picture he recalled from memory another, which at the outset had made no such vivid impression--Judith crying over the failure of the farce. His mind had passed it by lightly when it was first presented to him; it had not availed to turn his amused thoughts from Miss Ayesha Layard and her medicine. It came back now, at first by what seemed only a chance or freak of memory, but presently establishing for itself a relation with its sister-vision of triumphant grace. Between them they gave to Judith in his eyes something that he had not discerned before--something which had always been there, though not in such full measure in the earlier days of their acquaintance, before disaster and grief, and love and sympathy, had wrought upon her spirit. He saw her now--he was idealising again, no doubt, to some degree, after that generous fashion of his which no cold steel of experience could quite eradicate--as capable of the depths and heights of emotion; no longer as tethered too tight by reason and good sense, somewhat too critical, a trifle too humdrum in her notions--that was the conception of her which he had in the days of Bernadette's reign. The solid merits of that type he left to her still; and in this he was indeed on the firm ground of experience; he had tried and tested them. But now he decked them with bright ornaments and blended their sober useful tints with richer colouring--with tenderness of heart, a high brave joy in life, the grace of form and charm of face in which the eye delights.