The party from Westhope had driven down in a break, in which a seat had been offered to Walter Joyce by Lady Hetherington herself, who had condescended to visit the library for the express purpose. It happened, however, that the secretary was specially engaged on an important letter, which it was necessary should be despatched that day, so that he was compelled to ask to be allowed to find his own way to the lake. When he arrived, there was already a large gathering, the bank was lined with spectators, and there was a tolerably large number of skaters. Lord Hetherington, wrapped in an enormous fur coat, with a hood hanging half-way down his back, was standing looking on with a somewhat melancholy expression. It had just occurred to him that skating was a pleasant pastime, that to skate well was a thing of which a man might reasonably be proud; at the same time he realised the fact that it was a thing impossible to be done by proxy--he could not get any man to skate for him and give him the credit of it. Colonel Tapp, cleaner shaved and waxier moustached than ever, stood by his lordship. The colonel did not skate--not that he could not; in his youth he had been a proficient in the art, but he was not in his youth now, and was so strapped, and busked, and laced into his various garments, outer and inner, that he feared if by mischance he fell it might either be impossible for him to get up at all, or something might give way and cause him to be raised in a limp and unpresentable condition. Mr. Biscoe had no such qualms, and was buckling on his skates with all his characteristic impetuosity--old-fashioned skates, cumbrous with woodwork, and with curly tops, very different from the light and elegant trifles in which handsome little Mr. Boyd was performing all sorts of figures before the countess and a group of ladies gathered together on the bank, and trying to look as if they were interested and amused. "Charmin' scene!" said Lord Hetherington, surveying the lake in a birdlike fashion, with his head on one side. "Quite charmin'! Whenever I see ice and that kind of thing, always reminds me of some humorous adventures I once read in a book 'bout man on the ice; Pickwinkle, or some such name. 'Commonly humorous book, to be sure!" and his lordship laughed very heartily at his reminiscences. "You mean Pickwick, my lord," said the colonel. "Ah! hope what happened to him won't happen to any of our party, specially our fair friends who are pirouetting away there so prettily. If you recollect the ice broke and Mr. Pickwick got a ducking. How's the ice, Boyd?" to the boy who came spinning to the edge at the moment. "First class, colonel; couldn't be in better form; it's as hard as nails and as slippery as--as old boots," said Mr. Boyd, after hesitating an instant for an appropriate simile.