Dorothea was greatly taken with Mrs. Erskine; also she liked Isabel, and found Margot charming. But her chief admiration was for Colonel Erskine, and her chief interest centred itself in Dolly.
Without seeming to do so, she watched Dolly closely, noted every change of colour, observed every sign of depression. A quick instinct had told her at once that some kind of trouble lay below Dolly's physical listlessness; but, from lack of experience, she was too easily taken in as to Dolly's feelings. That Edred loved Dolly, and that Dolly cared for Mervyn, she felt now little doubt. But—did Mervyn care for Dolly? Did the clue to Dolly's trouble lie in that direction?
Dolly had her wish, after all. The world awoke next morning to a frost-decked landscape.
She did not skip with delight, as she would have done a year earlier, but only stood soberly looking out.
"Will it be hard enough for skating? And will the Claughtons ask us?" she murmured.
"Splendid frost, Dolly," greeted her downstairs.
"Just the weather for you."
"For skating, father?"
"Ah, ha,—that's what she always thinks of," laughed Colonel Erskine, who was in high spirits. "Dolly is a first-rate skater. But you don't look quite the thing this morning, child. What is wrong?"—as he kissed her.
"Oh, nothing. I'm only cold," said Dolly, trying to believe what she said. It would never do to give in and be lazy,—if an invitation should come from the Claughtons.