“Delightful!” she exclaimed, her cheeks a blaze of color. “We’ve been across the Arm and to Dutch Village, and now we’re coming in to have afternoon tea—and I haven’t had a tumble yet,” and as she spoke she gave a coquettish push to the toque on the back of her head, and looked at him over her shoulder.
“But you’re just going to have one,” he said, “take care.”
It was too late—she had pushed the front of her long snowshoe too far into a drift, and down she went, with an exclamation of surprise, and sending up a cloud of white, powdery flakes above her.
Captain Macartney, who was her escort, made haste to assist her to her feet, and she got up laughing and choking, her mouth full of snow, her black hair looking as if it had been powdered.
“We’re all too lively,” she cried, beating her mittens together; “our tramp hasn’t taken enough out of us—just hear them shouting over there, and see me run,” she vociferated, frolicking off on her snowshoes with a gayety and wildness that made her companion hurry after her, dragging his larger appendages along more heavily, giving an occasional hop to facilitate his progress, and crying warningly, “’Ware snowdrifts, Miss Delavigne. You’ll be down again.”
Down again she was, and up again before he got to her, and with some other members of the merry party sliding down a steep snowbank before the house. Then they joined a group below them busily engaged in arranging a set of lancers before the drawing-room windows.
“Dance my children, dance,” called Flora approvingly, and in a lower key to Valentine Armour, “Unfasten my thongs quick, Val. I wish to go in and see if the maids have everything ready.”
The young man went down on one knee, and bent his head over her snowshoes. He was in a costume of white, bordered by delicate pink and blue stripes. A picture of young, manly beauty he was, his black eyes sparkling, his cheeks glowing, the white-tasseled cap pulled down over the closely cropped hair, that would have been in waving curls all over his head had he allowed it to grow.
Judy, from a window above, was watching the progress of the dance. The couples stood opposite each other, then floundering and plunging through the snow, essayed to form figures more or less involved.
Many falls, inextricable confusion, and much laughter ensued, then the attempt was given up. Unfastening their snowshoes they filed gayly into the house. Dr. Camperdown watched them out of sight, the smile on his face dying away, as his keen eyes caught sight of poor, mis-shapen little Judy, half-hidden behind the window curtains, her face convulsed with envy and annoyance. Such amusements were not for her. She never would be strong and well like other girls.