“How can you talk of bad weather at a time like this? Look back and see that dear, white, delightful little village. Tell me, do you think there will be a carnival on the ice rink? I’ve brought the sweetest fancy dress you ever saw. You won’t find me staying indoors, excepting for meals.” When the cars reached the destination, the two alone out of the whole party exhibited scarcely any signs of the twenty-five hours’ journey from Charing Cross and London; the married sister compensated by showing every symptom of collapse, and he very courteously assisted her up the wooden steps and over the bridge to the hotel. There the flurried manager checked names as they entered; assigned the double room on the first floor to Mr. Masterson, and the single room on the third floor to Miss Rodgers and her exhausted sister; they united forces in protesting against this, and became more friendly in the presence of a common grievance. Despite the warmth of arguments used by visitors, the thermometer near the pile of brushes and toboggans registered four degrees of frost. Lunch was served at once, and immediately after the meal the married sister, discovering that she had eaten veal under the impression it was mutton, announced her intention of resting indoors during the afternoon. The other two came down in jerseys and white caps, and the married sister gave Masterson gracious permission to escort Miss Rodgers to the rink. “Mind you bring her back safely,” she commanded. “I’ll do my best,” he said. “Quite capable of taking care of myself,” remarked the girl. “Just lace up my boots for me, please.” They left the lady in the vestibule perusing a Cardiff journal bearing date of a Tuesday in the previous month. One could see on their return that the afternoon on the rink had reached highest expectations; their animation caused some compression of the eyebrows on the part of sedater folk taking tea. Everything had happened as the flushed, excited girl wanted it to happen. Her ability had excited favourable comment from other skaters; one of the professionals gave a compliment; the band played delightfully, and she—not caring for indoor dancing—completely and thoroughly enjoyed a waltz. Sun shining all the time. “After tea,” she explained, “we are going out to do some ski-ing.” “Who is meant, pray,” asked her sister carefully, “by the word ‘we’?” “Mr. Masterson and myself, of course!” “Oh!” commented her sister, giving an inflection which the printed word cannot convey. “What’s your objection, Ellen?” “It would be useless for me to offer any. I shall stay in and write. Does he know that you neither play nor sing?” “I’ve told him,” snapped the girl.