She laughed lightly. What a picture it would be for Dora, could she see her plunging through the freshly-fallen snow, Bud at her side, or a step ahead, with a broom!
"I don't need the broom," she said; "it has not snowed enough for that; and I am prepared, if it has; see my boots. I like the snow. You may carry my books, please, and we will have a nice walk and talk. The girls are all ready now, I think. You put out the lamps, and I will wait for you at the door."
Out in the beautiful, snowy world, just as Bud's key clicked in the look, Louis Ansted came up to Claire.
"Miss Benedict, let me take you home in the sleigh. I am sorry to have kept you waiting a moment; but my blundering driver had something wrong about the harness, and the horses were fractious. They are composed enough now, and Alice is in the sleigh. Let me assist you out to it, please."
If it had been moonlight, he might have seen the mischievous sparkle in Claire's eyes. It was so amusing to be engaged to Bud, while his master held out his hands for her books, as a matter of course, and poor Bud stood aside, desolate and miserable. Evidently he expected nothing else but to be left.
Claire's voice rang out clear, purposely to reach Bud's ear:
"Oh, no, thank you, Mr. Ansted! I am fond of walking; I don't mind the snow in the least, and I have promised myself the pleasure of a walk through it with Bud. Thank you!" as he still urged, "my ankle is quite well again, and I have had no exercise to-day; I really want the walk. We thank you very much for your help this evening, Mr. Ansted. Good-night! Are you ready, Bud?"
And they trudged away, leaving the discomfited gentleman standing beside his pawing horses.
"It is some absurd idea of benefiting Bud that has taken possession of her," explained Alice, as the sleigh flew by the two. "She spoke to me about trying to help him. She is just as full of queer notions as she can be. The idea of helping Bud!"