"Yes, quite sure. I—I'm rather tired this morning, but a walk will do me good."
They passed the rink without pausing, though Scott glanced across to see his brother skimming along in the distance with a red-clad figure beside him. He made no comment upon the sight, and Dinah was silent also. Her gay animation that morning was wholly a minus quantity.
They went on down the hill, talking but little. Speech in Scott's society was never a necessity. His silences were so obviously friendly. He had a shrewd suspicion on this occasion that the girl beside him had something to say, and he waited for it with a courteous patience, abstaining from interrupting her very evident preoccupation.
They walked between fields of snow, all glistening in the sunshine. The blue of the sky was no longer sapphire but glorious turquoise. The very air sparkled, diamond-clear in the crystal splendour of the day.
Suddenly Dinah spoke. "I suppose one always feels horrid the next morning."
"Are you feeling the reaction?" asked Scott.
"Oh, it isn't only that, I'm feeling—ashamed," said Dinah, blushing very deeply.
He did not look at her. "I don't see why," he said gently, after a moment.
"Oh, but you do!" she said impatiently. "At least you can if you try. You knew I was wrong to go down again for that last dance, just as well as I did. Why, you tried to stop me!"
"Which was very presumptuous of me," said Scott.