He says this as though the only earthly objection that could be raised to my coming out at this hour with him alone, is the fear of my catching cold. "Don't you think you have had enough of it now?" says 'Duke, calmly--_too_ calmly--still with that strange expression in his eyes, though perfectly polite. He does not look at me, and the hand I still hold in desperation is limp within my grasp, and takes no heed of the gentle, beseeching pressure I bestow upon it every quarter of a minute. "It is getting rather late"--glancing at his watch; "I fear I must ask you to return at once, as the traps are ordered round; and it will not do for Mrs. Carrington to keep her guests waiting." "I want a boy to take off my skates," I say, submissively, shocked at the lateness of the hour; it wants but ten minutes to ten. "True. But boys are never in the way when wanted. Gore, I'm sure _you_ will not mind unfastening Mrs. Carrington's skates, just for once," in a queer voice. "I shall be delighted," says Mark, courteously, going down on his knees before me. As he bows his head I barely catch a certain gleam in his eyes that is neither Laughter nor triumph, yet is a curious mingling of both. I feel ready to cry with vexation. "You will follow me as soon as you can," says 'Duke, and, to my amazement, walks steadily away. "I am afraid I have got you into a scrape," says Mark, in a low tone, as he bends over my left foot, and with slow fingers draws out the leather straps. "How do you mean?" I ask, haughtily, feeling passionate anger in my heart towards him at the moment, regarding him as the cause of all my misery. "I mean--of course I don't know--but I fancied Carrington was angry with you for coming here with--that is--so late." His hesitation and stammering are both affected and untrue. "Not a bit of it," I reply stoutly; "he probably does not like being kept waiting: men never do. He is wonderfully punctual himself, and of course I ought to have been back ages ago. I wish now I had never come. Can't you be a little quicker?" with an impatient movement of my toe. "It don't take the boys hours to get off each skate." "You are in a desperate hurry _now_." "I _am_ in a desperate hurry, and I hate vexing Marmaduke. There, hold it tightly, and I will pull my foot out. Now, try and be a little quicker about this one." "I assure you I am doing my best," sulkily. "I don't want to keep you here, in your present mood, longer than I can help." "I should think not," say I, with a disagreeable laugh. As the skate comes off he flings it aside with a savage gesture, and, rising, offers me his arm, which I decline. "We must run for it," I say, indifferently, "and I never can do that to, my own satisfaction when holding on to any one. I detest jogging." "Why don't you say at once you detest _me?_" exclaims Mark, roughly, and summarily disposes of a small boy who is unhappy enough to be in his path at the moment.