“Now,” said Wardle, after a substantial lunch, with the agreeable items of strong-beer and cherry-brandy, had been done ample justice to; “what say you to an hour on the ice? We shall have plenty of time.”
“Capital!” said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
“Prime!” ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer.
“You skait, of course, Winkle?” said Wardle.
“Ye—yes; oh, yes;” replied Mr. Winkle. “I—I—am rather out of practice.”
“Oh, do skait, Mr. Winkle,” said Arabella. “I like to see it so much.”
“Oh, it is so graceful,” said another young lady.
A third young lady said it was elegant, and a fourth expressed her opinion that it was “swanlike.”
“I should be very happy, I’m sure,” said Mr. Winkle, reddening; “but I have no skaits.”
This objection was at once overruled. Trundle had got a couple of pair, and the fat boy announced that there were half a dozen more, down stairs, whereat Mr. Winkle expressed exquisite delight, and looked exquisitely uncomfortable.