“Oh! Aunt Winnie married a wealthy man—yes,” she said. “Professor Winthrop White. But we were very poor, indeed, until a few years ago when a distant relative left the major some property. Then, of course, this Hardin estate is a big thing.”
“Yes,” said Garry, shortly. “And you are going to be wealthy in your own right when you are of age. So your little friend told me.”
“Yes,” sighed Dorothy. “Tavia will talk. The same relative who left father his first legacy, tied up some thousands for poor little me.”
Immediately Garry Knapp talked of other things. The night was fine and the moon, a silver paring, hung low above the hills. The stars were so bright that they were reflected in the black ice under the skaters’ ringing steel.
Garry and Dorothy had shot away from the others and were now well down the river toward the milldam. So perfectly had the ice frozen that when they turned the blades of the skates left long, soaplike shavings behind them.
With clasped hands, they took the stroke together perfectly. Never had Dorothy skated with a partner that suited her so well. Nor had she ever sped more swiftly over the ice.
Suddenly, she felt Garry’s muscles stiffen and saw his head jerk up as he stared ahead.
“What is it?” she murmured, her own eyes so misty that she could not see clearly. Then in a moment she uttered a frightened “Oh!”
They had crossed the river, and now, on coming back, there unexpectedly appeared a long, open space before them. The water was so still that at a distance the treacherous spot looked just like the surrounding ice.
The discovery was made too late for them to stop. Indeed, Garry Knapp increased his speed, picked her up in his arms and it seemed to Dorothy that they fairly flew over the open water, landing with a resonant ring of steel upon the safe ice beyond.