“There comes Mr. Armour, running down the bank like a boy.”
He was in great good humor, and saluted her with the utmost cheerfulness. “Yes, Mrs. Fairlee, I did think I was going to miss this; and I haven’t been on the ice this winter. Will you have a turn with me?” and standing beside her, first on one leg and then on the other, he fastened his skates to the heavy soles of his boots with two decisive clicks.
“No, I won’t skate with you,” she said, rolling her eyes at him over her coffee cup. “I don’t believe there’s a woman here cruel enough to do such a thing—is there, ladies?” and she took in the party with a mischievous, inclusive glance.
“No, no—no cruelty here—don’t know what it is, but we won’t persecute Mr. Armour,” and similar laughing ejaculations were heard.
“I want to see Major Heathcote on a matter of the last importance,” she continued loudly; “does any one know where he is, and will you, Mr. Armour, find him for me?”
“I will,” he replied, simultaneously with a voice announcing that Major Heathcote was explaining something to Miss Delavigne.
“Ocular demonstration, probably,” said Mrs. Fairlee. “Off you go to find them, Mr. Armour; here’s a currant bun for refreshment,” slipping it from her saucer to his pocket.
He smiled at her—she never could tease him—and turning his face toward the north he skated from her with long, powerful strides. Not twenty paces distant he met the two people whom he was in search of.
“No, we have not been to Melville Island,” said Major Heathcote, stopping short. “Would you have cared to go, Miss Delavigne?”
“I did not think of it, thank you.”