"How dare you?" I gasp. "Don't attempt to touch me."
"What! has your indifference already changed to hatred?" says he, bitterly, as I walk rapidly away.
----
The sun shines out with redoubled power and brilliancy, and, toiling up Carlisle street, we find ourselves before the door of the principal hotel in Warminster. Such a goodly turnout as ours is seldom seen even in this busy, bustling town, and the waiters and hostlers come out to admire and tender their services. To the enterprising owner of this grand hotel belongs the rink, and thither we bend our footsteps.
To see the world on wheels—to see the latest, newest vanity of the Great Fair—is my ambition. Turning a corner, we enter a gateway adjoining the hotel; we pass the mystic portal, we pay the inevitable shilling, throw ourselves upon the mercies of the movable barrier, and find ourselves there.
Just at first the outside circle of admirers prevents our catching sight of the performers, and the dull grating noise of the machines falls unpleasantly upon our ears. We draw nearer the chattering, gaping crowd, and by degrees edge our way in, until we too have a full view of all that is to be seen.
Surely there is a mistake somewhere, and it is wheels, wheels, wheels, not love, that 'makes the world go round.'
On they come, by twos and threes, in single file, in shaking groups, all equally important, all filled with a desire to get—nowhere. A novice comes running, staggering, balancing towards us; evidently her acquaintance with this new mode of locomotion was of the vaguest half an hour ago. The crowd passes on, and she must follow it; so, with a look of fear upon her face that amounts almost to agony, she totters onward to brave a thousand falls. A sudden rush past her—the faintest touch does it—she reels: her heels (that on ordinary occasions, to judge by their appearance, must be the staunchest of supports) refuse to uphold her now; her lips part to emit a dying gasp, already she smells the ground, when a kindly hand from behind seized her, steadies her with good-natured force, and, with a smile of acknowledgement, that confesses the misery of the foregoing minutes, she once more totters, trips, and scrambles to her fate.
I am delighted, entranced. I find myself presently laughing gayly and with all my heart, the galling remembrance of the last few hours swept completely from my brain. I cry "Oh!" at every casualty, and grasp my companion's arm; I admire and smile upon the successful. I begin to wish that I too could skate.
Here comes the adept, with eyes fixed questioningly upon the watchful crowd. Their approving glances fire him with a mad desire to prove to them how superior he is to his compeers. He will do more than skate with consummate grace and ease; he will do better than the "out-side edge;" he will waltz.