e being like an
overpowering essence, so that she forgot the seven dreary years that
separated her from her girlhood, forgot the bondage to which she was
returning, the constant, ever-increasing anxiety that wrought so
mercilessly upon her; and remembered only the splendour of the sunshine
that sparkled on the snow, and the ecstasy of the keen clear air she
breathed. It was like an enchanting dream to her, a dream through which
she lived with all the greater zest because it so soon must pass.

All the pent energies of her vanished youth were in the dream. She could
not--for that once she could not--deny them vent.

And Nap, strung to a species of fierce gaiety that she had never seen in
him before, urged her perpetually on. He would not let her pause to
think, but yet he considered her at every turn. He scoffed like a boy at
her efforts to ski, but he held her up strongly while he scoffed, taking
care of her with that adroitness that marked everything he did. And while
they thus dallied the time passed swiftly, more swiftly than either
realised. The sun began to draw to the south-west. The diamonds ceased to
sparkle save here and there obliquely. The haze of a winter afternoon
settled upon the downs.

Suddenly Anne noticed these things, suddenly the weight of care which had
so wonderfully been lifted from her returned, suddenly the shining
garment of her youth slipped from her, and left her like Cinderella when
the spell of her enchantment was broken.

"Nap!" she exclaimed. "I must go! I must have been dreaming to forget
the time!"

"Time!" laughed Nap. "What is time?"

"It is something that I have to remember," she said. "Why, it must be
nearly two o'clock!"

Nap glanced at the sun and made no comment. Anne felt for and consulted
her watch. It was already three.

She looked up in amazement and dismay. "I must go at once!"

"Don't!" said Nap. "I am sure your watch is wrong."

"I must go at once," she repeated firmly. "It is long past the luncheon
hour. I had no idea we had been here so long. You must go too. Your
chauffeur will think you are never coming."

The skis were still on her feet. Nap looked at her speculatively.

"This is rather an abrupt end," he said. "Won't you have one more go? A
few minutes more or less can't make any difference now."

"They may make all the difference," Anne said. "Really, I ought not."

They stood on a gentle slope that led downwards to the path she
must take.

"Just