By what magic he cajoled her into trying her skill upon skis Anne never afterwards remembered. It seemed to her later that the exhilarating atmosphere of that cloudless winter day must in some magic fashion have revived in her the youth which had been crushed out of existence so long ago. A strange, irresponsible happiness possessed her, so new, so subtly sweet, that the heavy burden she had borne for so long seemed almost to have shrunk into insignificance. It permeated her whole being like an overpowering essence, so that she forgot the seven dreary years that separated her from her girlhood, forgot the bondage to which she was returning, the constant, ever-increasing anxiety that wrought so mercilessly upon her; and remembered only the splendour of the sunshine that sparkled on the snow, and the ecstasy of the keen clear air she breathed. It was like an enchanting dream to her, a dream through which she lived with all the greater zest because it so soon must pass. All the pent energies of her vanished youth were in the dream. She could not--for that once she could not--deny them vent. And Nap, strung to a species of fierce gaiety that she had never seen in him before, urged her perpetually on. He would not let her pause to think, but yet he considered her at every turn. He scoffed like a boy at her efforts to ski, but he held her up strongly while he scoffed, taking care of her with that adroitness that marked everything he did. And while they thus dallied the time passed swiftly, more swiftly than either realised. The sun began to draw to the south-west. The diamonds ceased to sparkle save here and there obliquely. The haze of a winter afternoon settled upon the downs. Suddenly Anne noticed these things, suddenly the weight of care which had so wonderfully been lifted from her returned, suddenly the shining garment of her youth slipped from her, and left her like Cinderella when the spell of her enchantment was broken. "Nap!" she exclaimed. "I must go! I must have been dreaming to forget the time!" "Time!" laughed Nap. "What is time?" "It is something that I have to remember," she said. "Why, it must be nearly two o'clock!" Nap glanced at the sun and made no comment. Anne felt for and consulted her watch. It was already three. She looked up in amazement and dismay. "I must go at once!" "Don't!" said Nap. "I am sure your watch is wrong." "I must go at once," she repeated firmly. "It is long past the luncheon hour. I had no idea we had been here so long. You must go too. Your chauffeur will think you are never coming." The skis were still on her feet. Nap looked at her speculatively. "This is rather an abrupt end," he said. "Won't you have one more go? A few minutes more or less can't make any difference now." "They may make all the difference," Anne said. "Really, I ought not." They stood on a gentle slope that led downwards to the path she must take.