“Well, since then Ice and Snow has been practising for all he’s worth, in sequestered corners. I doubt if he thinks about parish affairs at all, and the dream of his life is to get into the English club. He will come up as soon as he has the slightest chance of passing, if not before. But I feel convinced that he has conveyed to Ambrose that it is an unnecessary expense, and Ambrose has told me that he thought of it himself. Aren’t they divine?”
Peggy got up at once.
“I shall go and talk to Ambrose instantly,” she said, “and find out whether his father did convey that impression.”
“I know you can be diplomatic,” remarked Hugh.
She returned in a few minutes.
“Yes, it is so,” she said. “Ice and Snow alluded to expense, and said that the English rink was not so good as the public one. Oh, Hugh, if only he goes up for the test after that!”
But at that moment Hugh forgot all this; he forgot Peggy, he forgot the fatal hour of half-past twelve, for somebody waved to him from the snow bank that bounded the rink. He clambered awkwardly up the wooden steps, and stamped his way along the frozen snow.
“Ah, but this is good,” he cried, “this is the very best. And you’ve walked all the way? And you are not tired? Are you sure you are not tired?”
“Not a bit; I’ve enjoyed it. Oh, Hugh, it’s nearly half-past twelve, and I am so agitated. You must get through. Where’s Peggy?”
Peggy had followed Hugh to the edge of the ice.