Sir Mark, bending his head, says, smoothly: "You should remember how tired Marmaduke must be of this kind of thing. He has seen so much of it. It was good enough of him, I think, to drive here to-day at all. No doubt he shudders at the thought of visiting a country rink twice in six or seven hours. Will you allow me to be your escort here to-night? If it proves unbearable we need only stay a few minutes. I am sure Marmaduke would in reality wish you to be gratified—-"
He hesitates, and regards me quietly. I am by no means as sure as he is of Marmaduke's amiability; but at this instant I care for nothing but the opportunity of showing my husband how little I care for his likes or dislikes.
"I dare say you are right," I return, calmly. "Of course it is just the sort of amusement a man would find dull, once the novelty was worn away. It is self-denying of you to offer your services. Yes, I think I will come here to-night for a few minutes, if only to see how the scene looks by lamplight."
"Much gayer than by daylight. That you can imagine." replies he, evenly, his eyes bent upon the ground.
Once having pledged myself to go, I feel no inclination to break my word. All through dinner mutinous thoughts support me in my determination.
Having led my guests back into the reception-room, I pass into the adjoining apartment unnoticed, and, hurriedly putting on my hat and jacket, slip out into the hall, where I find Sir Mark awaiting me.
Now for the first time, looking out into the darkening night, I understand what fear means. My heart sinks. What wild and foolish thing am I about to do? Obstinacy and the shame of confessing myself unnerved alone prevents me from turning back again, and it is with a beating, cowardly pulse, though an undaunted exterior, that I cross the threshold with my companion.
As I have said, the rink adjoins the hotel, and a very few minutes brings us once more within its shelter. During those few minutes my usual talkativeness deserts me; I am silent as the grave. Sir Mark, too, makes no attempt at conversation.
Inside, the laughing, moving crowd somewhat distracts me from my gloomy apprehensions. The bright glare of the lamps, the music of the band, which is playing its liveliest air, render me less fearful of consequences. Sir Mark gets me a pair of skates; he holds out his hand; I move forward; the crush is not so great as I had imagined the music cheers me. After all what harm have I done? I stumble; a merry laugh forces itself from my lips; all is forgotten save the interest of this new pastime.
Can a quarter of an hour have passed away? I am chattering gayly, and clinging to my cavalier, in a fashion innocent, indeed, but rather pronounced, when, looking up, I encounter Marmaduke's eyes fixed upon me from the doorway. There is in them an expression strange, and, to me at least, new—an expression that strikes terror to my heart as I gaze.