Jean knelt down on the hearth, and, pulling off her rain-soaked gloves, held out her hands to the fire’s cheerful blaze. “It’s good-bye to all the skating, I’m afraid,” she said regretfully. “Nick says we’re not likely to have another hard frost like the last, now that the weather has broken so completely.” “No. It’s April next month--supposedly springtime, you know,” returned Blaise indifferently. He seemed disinclined to talk, and Jean eyed him contemplatively. His attitude towards her baffled her as much as ever. He was unfailingly courteous and considerate, but he remained, nevertheless, unmistakably aloof, avoiding her whenever it was politely possible, and when it was not, treating her with a cool neutrality of manner that was as complete a contrast to his demeanour when they were together at Montavan as could well be imagined. Indeed, sometimes Jean almost wondered if the events of that day they spent amid the snows had really taken place--they seemed so far away, so entirely unrelated to her present life, notwithstanding the fact that she was in daily contact with the man who had shared them with her. “It was rather uncomplimentary of you not to come skating with us a solitary _once_,” she remarked at last, an accent of reproach in her voice. “Was my performance on the rink at Montavan so execrable that you felt you couldn’t risk it again?” He looked up, his glance meeting hers levelly. “You’ve phrased it excellently,” he replied briefly. “I felt I couldn’t risk it.” A sudden flush mounted to Jean’s face. There was no misunderstanding the significance that underlay the curt words, which, as she was vibrantly aware, bore no relation whatever to her skill, or absence of it, on the ice. Blaise made no endeavour to relieve the awkward silence that ensued. Instead, his eyes rested upon her with a somewhat quizzical expression, as though he were rather entertained than otherwise by her evident confusion. Jean felt her indignation rising. “It is fortunate that other people are not so--nervous,” she said disdainfully. “Otherwise I should find myself as isolated as a fever hospital.” “It is fortunate indeed,” he agreed politely. In the course of the three weeks which had elapsed since her arrival at Staple, Jean had dared several similar passages-at-arms with her host. Woman-like, she was bent on getting behind his guard of reticence, on forcing him into an explanation of his altered attitude towards her--since no woman can be expected to endure that a man should completely change from ill-suppressed ardour to a cool, impersonal detachment of manner, without aching to know the reason why! But in every instance Tormarin had carried off the honours of war, parrying her small thrusts with a lazy insouciance which she found galling in the extreme.