Sir Mark, unaware of his presence, continues to issue instructions and guide my quavering footsteps, until we are within a few feet of my husband. Loosing my hands then from his grasp, I precipitate myself upon Marmaduke and cling to him for the support he coolly allows me to take.
Sir Mark, propelled by the push I have given him in parting, skates on some little distance from us, giving me time to gasp, "Oh, 'Duke, don't be angry. I liked it so much to-day and you said we would not start before ten; so I knew I had plenty of time. You are not angry, are you?"
By this time—before 'Duke can reply—if indeed, he would deign to notice me, which I begin to doubt—Sir Mark is returned, and is now addressing my husband with the utmost bonhomie.
"See what it is to be of a dissipated turn, Carrington. In default of more congenial sport I could not resist the pleasures of an obscure rink. I fear it was foolish of me, though, to put it into Mrs. Carrington's head; though I really think there are few draughts anywhere, it is such a lovely night."
He says this as though the only earthly objection that could be raised to my coming out at this hour with him alone, is the fear of my catching cold.
"Don't you think you have had enough of it now?" says 'Duke, calmly—too calmly—still with that strange expression in his eyes, though perfectly polite. He does not look at me, and the hand I still hold in desperation is limp within my grasp, and takes no heed of the gentle, beseeching pressure I bestow upon it every quarter of a minute. "It is getting rather late"—glancing at his watch; "I fear I must ask you to return at once, as the traps are ordered round; and it will not do for Mrs. Carrington to keep her guests waiting."
"I want a boy to take off my skates," I say, submissively, shocked at the lateness of the hour; it wants but ten minutes to ten.
"True. But boys are never in the way when wanted. Gore, I'm sure you will not mind unfastening Mrs. Carrington's skates, just for once," in a queer voice.
"I shall be delighted," says Mark, courteously, going down on his knees before me. As he bows his head I barely catch a certain gleam in his eyes that is neither Laughter nor triumph, yet is a curious mingling of both.
I feel ready to cry with vexation.