“The other side of that mound is tip-top for skiing,” remarked Nap, “better than you would expect in this country.  But no one here seems particularly keen on it.  I was out early this morning and tried several places that were quite passable, but that mound was the best!”

“After dancing till three,” commented Lucas.  “What a restless fellow you are!”

Nap laughed a somewhat hard laugh.  “One must do something.  I never sleep after dawn.  It’s not my nature.”

“You’ll wear yourself to a shadow,” smiled Lucas.  “There’s little enough of you as it is—­nothing but fire and sinew!”

“Oh, rats, my dear fellow!  I’m as tough as leather.  There would need to be something very serious the matter for me to lie in bed after daylight.  Just look at that woman doing eights!  It’s a sight to make you shudder.”

“Whom do you mean?  Mrs. Van Rhyl?  I thought you were an admirer of hers.”

Nap made a grimace.  “Where is your native shrewdness?  And I never admired her skating anyway.  It’s about on a par with Mrs. Damer’s dancing.  In the name of charity, don’t ask that woman to come and help us dance again.  I’m not equal to her.  It’s yoking an elephant to a zebra.”

“I thought you liked Mrs. Damer,” said Lucas.

Nap grimaced again.  “She’s all right in the hunting-field.  Leave her in her own sphere and I can appreciate her.”

“Do you think you are capable of appreciating any woman?” asked Lucas unexpectedly.

Nap threw him a single fiery glance that was like a sword-thrust.  His slight figure stiffened to arrogance.  But his answer, when it came, was peculiarly soft and deliberate—­it was also absolutely and imperiously final.

“I guess so.”

Lucas said no more, but he did not look wholly satisfied.  There were times in his dealings with Nap when even his tolerance would carry him no further.

They spent a considerable time on the terrace in front of the house.  It was a sheltered spot, and the sunshine that day was generous.

“This place is doing you good,” Nap remarked presently.  “You are considerably stronger than you were.”

“I believe I am,” Lucas answered.  “I sleep better.”

He had just seated himself on a stone bench that overlooked the lake.  His eyes followed the darting figures of the skaters with a certain intentness.

Nap leaned upon the balustrade and watched him.  “Why don’t you see Capper again?” he asked suddenly.

The millionaire’s gaze gradually lost its intentness and grew remote.  “I am afraid he is on the wrong side of the Atlantic,” he said.

“You can cable to him.”

“Yes, I know.”  Slowly Lucas raised his eyes to his brother’s face.  “I can have him over to tell me what he told me before—­that I haven’t the recuperative strength essential to make his double operation a success.”

“He may tell you something different this time.”  Nap spoke insistently, with the energy of one not accustomed to accept defeat.