The frost continued: she hurried over her organ practice; and went down to the pond with Land. Her skates were on in a moment; and had there been any spectators, they might have enjoyed the sight of an old man holding a young lady's muff and boa, while she amused herself by skimming over the ice. She was never weary. Poor old Land walked up and down the side of the pond with his hands in her muff, wishing every minute that she would bring her sport to a conclusion, until he was forced to tell her that his time was up, for he had to go in and see to the cleaning of the plate. The next day she managed to go out earlier, for the frost was still hard, and she determined to make the most of it while it lasted.
She excited the unqualified approbation of Land by her performance, for, as she bade him observe, she was fairly getting into practice.
She flew round the pond, and across, and back, until he was almost tired of watching her.
"Miss Capel—Miss Capel! quick! here comes Mr. Casement," cried Land, but Margaret was careering round the pond and did not hear him.
"Miss Capel! Bless the child, he will go and say all sorts of things to Mr. Grey. Oh, dear me! Miss Margaret—"
"Well, Land, what is the matter? You look in such a bustle. You don't mean to say the ice is giving way?"
"Mr. Casement is coming across the field, that's all, Miss Capel."
"Oh! I don't care for him—horrid old man! Just look how nicely I can turn this corner."
Mr. Casement passed through the field on his way to the house, and Margaret continued her skating with great eagerness.