“What is the use of talking of it?” he exclaimed, melodramatically. “Let me forget my short-lived hopes!” “You _have_ a friend,” she said, slowly. “A friend who tantalises me by ‘supposings’!” “But supposing you did, Mr Beveridge, would you go back to your—did you say you had a parish?” “I had: a large, populous, and happy parish. It is my one dream to sit once more on its council and direct my curate.” “Of course that makes a difference. Mr Candles didn’t know all this.” They had come by this time to the corner of a little island that lay not far from the shore; in the channel ahead a board labelled “Danger” marked a hidden spring; behind them the shining ice was almost bare of skaters, for all but Dr Escott seemed to be leaving; on the bank they could see Moggridge prowling about in the gathering dusk, a vigilant reminder of captivity. Mr Beveridge took the whole scene in with, it is to be feared, a militant rather than an episcopal eye. Then he suddenly asked, “Are you alone?” “Yes.” “You drive back?” “Ye—es.” He took out his watch and made a brief calculation. “Go now, call at Clankwood or do anything else you like, and pass down the drive again at a quarter to five.” This sudden pinning of her irresolution almost took Lady Alicia’s breath away. “But I never said——” she began. “My dear friend,” he interrupted, “in the hour of action only a fool ever says. Come on.” And while she still hesitated they were off again. “But——” she tried to expostulate. “My dearest friend,” he whispered, “and my dear old vicarage!” He gave her no time to protest. Her skates were off, she was on her way to her carriage, and he was striking out again for the middle of the lake before she had time to collect her wits. He took out his watch and looked at the time. It was nearly a quarter-past four. Then he came up to Escott, who by this time was the only other soul on the ice. “About time we were going in,” said Escott. “Give me half-an-hour more. I’ll show you how to do that vine you admired.” “All right,” assented the doctor. A minute or two later Mr Beveridge, as if struck by a sudden reflection, exclaimed, “By Jove, there’s that poor devil Moggridge freezing to death on shore. Can’t you manage to look after so dangerous a lunatic yourself? It is his tea-time, too.” “Hallo, so he is,” replied Escott; “I’ll send him up.” And so there were only left the two men on the ice. For a little the lesson went on, and presently, leaving the doctor to practise, Mr Beveridge skated away by himself. He first paused opposite a seat on the bank over which hung Dr Escott’s great fur coat. This spectacle appeared to afford him peculiar pleasure. Then he looked at his watch. It was half-past four. He shut the watch with a click, threw a glance at his pupil, and struck out for the island. If the doctor had been looking, he might have seen him round it in the gloaming. Dr Escott, leaning far on his outside edge, met him as he returned.