the children included, are
skating on the lake, which is to be found about half a mile from the
house at the foot of a "wind-beaten hill." The sun is shining coldly, as
though steadily determined to give no heat, and a sullen wind is coming
up from the distant shore. "Stern Winter loves a dirge-like sound," and
must now, therefore, be happy, as Boreas is asserting himself nobly,
both on land and sea.

Some of the _jeunesse doree_ of the neighborhood, who have been lunching
at the Court, are with the group upon the lake, and are cutting (some of
them) the most remarkable figures, in every sense of the word, to their
own and everybody else's delight.

Dulce, who is dressed in brown velvet and fur, is gliding gracefully
hither and thither with her hand fast locked in Roger's. Julia is making
rather an exhibition of herself, and Portia, who skates--as she does
everything else--to perfection, but who is easily tired, is just now
sitting upon the bank with the devoted Dicky by her side. Sir Mark,
coming up to these last two, drops lazily down on the grass at Portia's
other side.

"Why don't you skate, Mark?" asks Portia, turning to him.

"Too old," says Gore.

"Nonsense! You are not too old for other things that require far greater
exertion. For one example, you will dance all night and never show sign
of fatigue."

"I like waltzing."

"Ah! and not skating."

"It hurts when one falls," says Mark, with a yawn; "and why put oneself
in a position likely to create stars before one's eyes, and a violent
headache at any moment?"

"Inferior drink, if you take enough of it, will do all that sometimes,"
says Mr. Browne, innocently.

"Will it? I don't know anything about it" (severely). "You do, I
shouldn't wonder; you speak so feelingly."

"If you address me like that again, I shall cry," says Dicky, sadly.

"Why are not you and Portia skating? It is far too cold to sit still on
this damp grass."

"I am tired," says Portia, smiling rather languidly. "It sounds very
affected, doesn't it? but really I am very easily fatigued. The least
little exertion does me up. Town life, I suppose. But I enjoy sitting
here and watching the others."

"So do I," says Sir Mark. "It quite warms my heart to see them flitting
to and fro over there like a pretty dream."

"What part of your heart?" asks Mr. Browne, with a suppressed
chuckle--"the cockles of it?" It is plain he has not yet forgotten his
snubbing of a minute since.

Nob