"I am at the Vendôme, where I always go. I came on Saturday, and have been hunting up some of my friends to meet you to-morrow. On Wednesday, if agreeable to you, we will dine at the Country Club, where they have a little informal dance, ending at eleven o'clock, once a week. I think it will amuse you. If it snows, which it threatens to do to-night, we will go in sleighs."
Mrs. Frampton looked petrified.
"What! in evening dress?"
"Why, yes! We wrap up well, with fur hoods and double veils, and wear frocks that won't tumble; and the drive back, under a full moon, as we have now, will be delightful."
"Well," said Mrs. Frampton, dubiously, "I never did anything so skittish when I was young—and now that I am an old woman—what if I am upset?"
"Oh, you won't be upset—and if you were, it wouldn't hurt you. You have no distance to fall, and in the soft white snow—"
"Good heavens! The very idea of it sends cold water down my back. No, thank you. They shall go, but you must excuse me. A nocturnal sleighing-party—returning from a ball—running races, I dare say—no, thank you—not for me!"
Mrs. Courtly's prediction was verified. The snow came down heavily before morning. The streets were blocked; the horse-cars moved stealthily along. Then it froze, and every one who ventured from his door trod very carefully, trying to obtain some hold on the white surface, slippery as glass and glistening in the noonday sun.
CHAPTER XVII
That morning, at breakfast in the public room, Mrs. Frampton was outraged at having a glass of ice-water and an orange given to her before the tea was served.