sked Scott, his eyes
still steadily watching her.

She nodded. "Yes, yes. But I don't want to be made. Basil never made me
do things."

Scott rose. "I will wait for you downstairs. Thank you, Biddy. Yes, I'll
drink that first. No tea in the world ever tastes like your brew."

"Get along with your blarney, Master Scott!" protested Biddy. "And you
and Sir Eustace mustn't tire Miss Isabel out. Remember, she's just come a
long journey, and it's not wonderful at all that she don't feel like
exerting herself."

A red fire of resentment smouldered in the old woman's eyes, but Scott
paid no attention to it. "You'd better get some sleep yourself, Biddy, if
you can," he said. "No more, thanks. You will be out in an hour then,
Isabel?"

"Perhaps," she said.

He paused, standing beside her. "If you are not out in an hour I shall
come and fetch you," he said.

She put forth an appealing hand like a child. "I will come out, Stumpy. I
will come out," she said tremulously.

He pressed the hand for a moment. "In an hour then, I want to show you
everything. There is plenty to be seen."

He turned to the door, looked back with a parting smile, and went out.

Isabel did not see the smile. She was staring moodily downwards with eyes
that only looked within.

CHAPTER II

THE LOOKER-ON

Down on the skating-rink below the hotel, a crowd of people were making
merry. The ice was in splendid condition. It sparkled in the sun like a
sheet of frosted glass, and over it the skaters glided with much mirth
and laughter.

Scott stood on the road above and watched them. There were a good many
accomplished performers among them, and there were also several
beginners. But all seemed alike infected with the gaiety of the place.
There was not one face that did not wear a smile.

It was an invigorating scene. From a slope of the white mountain-side
beyond the rink the shouts and laughter of higers came through the
crystal air. A string of luges was shooting down the run, and even as
Scott caught sight of it the foremost came to grief, and a dozen people
rolled ignominiously in the snow. He smiled involuntarily. He seemed to
have stepped into an atmosphere of irresponsible youth. The air was full
of the magic fluid. It stirred his pulses like a draught of champagne.

Then his eyes returned to the rink, and almost immediately singled out
the best skater there. A man in a white sweater, dark, handsome,
magnificently made, supremely