Miss Thomas seemed really very sorry. Vane admitted this afterwards, when he sought to reason himself out of his consequent ill-humor. But she was already engaged to ride that day in Mr. Wemyss's sleigh. It was so unfortunate, and she was so much disappointed! Vane, however, decided to postpone his proposal of marriage to some other occasion; so he drove out sedately with the young and beautiful chaperone. With her he made no sufficient effort at flirtation, and Mrs. Gower never forgave him the omission. The ice was very good; and Vane was disporting himself meditatively in one corner of the pond when Miss Thomas whirled by him on the "outer edge." Miss Thomas was a beautiful skater; and, as she passed, she stretched out a crooked cane as if inviting him to join her. Vane had no desire to refuse; and in a minute the two were rolling along in strong, sweeping curves, the girl's blue eyes gleaming with excitement beneath their long black lashes. Her eyes had the still, violet blue of a cleft in a glacier; Vane could not help looking into them once or twice. The ice was broken. Neither of them had much to say; but for an hour or more they skated together. The crooked stick, proving too long, was soon discarded; and they skated hand in hand. On the shore, Wemyss was devoting himself to the matron. He could not skate. Finally, the signal of recall was given. Miss Thomas made no movement in the direction of the return, and Vane was naturally too polite to make the first. They could see Mrs. Gower at the other end of the pond, skurrying about, like a young hen after her chickens. Suddenly Miss Thomas discovered that they ought to go back; but when they returned to the shore they were the last of the party, and had the log, which served the purpose of a seat, to themselves. Vane stooped to take off his companion's skates, and in shaking them free Miss Thomas brought the blade of one across his hand with some force, causing a slight scratch on the back of his finger. She gave a little cry of horror, and then, as the finger bled profusely, pulled out her own handkerchief, and, before Vane could prevent her, bound it around the wound. "It was my fault," said she. "You can give the handkerchief to me when we next meet." As they walked back, Vane, dropping behind, unwound the handkerchief and put it in an inside pocket, then drew his glove hastily over the scratch, which had already stopped bleeding.