One morning, Leonard having some business to detain him, Darley went off alone for the customary spin down the river. Skating out of the town and away past the white fields and the farmhouses, he presently espied a small feminine figure ahead of him, gliding quietly along. Suddenly the figure tripped and fell. One skate had come off and flew out to the center of the ice.
Darley sped to the rescue. The little figure in gray made a futile attempt to rise.
“Are you hurt?” exclaimed the rescuer as he wheeled to a short stop.
The lady looked up, and Darley saw the likeness in an instant. It was the other Miss Charteris—not at all like his acquaintance of the city. A rather pale, patient little face, with quiet gray eyes set far apart; a plain face, Darley said to himself. But on second thought he decided that it was not.
“I am afraid I have hurt my ankle,” said this little woman in answer to Darley's inquiry. “I tried to stand up, but I got a twinge that told me something was wrong.”
“Let me help you. Which foot is it?”
“This one,” indicating the foot minus the skate.