“One on you, my dear,” whispered Christine.

“Isn’t he tiresome?” answered Nancy, shutting her eyes.

“I thought he was your selection.”

“Nobody’s infallible, my dear.  Besides, I telegraphed him not to accept the invitation, but he says he never got my message.”

“Why does he think you sent it?”

“Because I couldn’t trust myself—­”

They grinned at each other.

With the entrance of Riatt and Ussher they went in to lunch, and there manoeuvering for places for the afternoon immediately began.

Hickson supposed that by starting early he could secure Christine’s company.  So he at once asked her what she was going to do, and before she had time to answer he had suggested that she skate, take a walk, or go sleighing with him.  Ussher explained that the skating was spoiled, and Christine under cover of this diversion managed to avoid committing herself.

As a matter of fact her afternoon was arranged.  She had told Laura Ussher a pathetic story of having to go over to her father’s house, and look up an old fur coat of his which had been left behind when the house was shut for the winter.  Mr. Fenimer was known to be rather an irritable parent where questions of his own comfort were concerned; it was not impossible that he would make himself disagreeable if his orders were not carried out.  Laura did not inquire very closely, but she agreed that the best way for Christine to traverse the distance would be for Riatt to drive her over in the cutter.  Riatt sat next to Laura at luncheon, and she put it to him, when the general conversation was loudest.

“Would you mind awfully driving poor little Christine over to her own place to get something or other for that horrid father of hers?”

Of course Riatt didn’t say he did mind; as a matter of fact he didn’t.  He might even have enjoyed the prospect, if it hadn’t been for the slight hint of compulsion about it.

“It’s snowing, you know,” he said.

“It doesn’t amount to anything,” answered his cousin.  “But surely, Max, you’re not afraid of a little snow, if she isn’t!”

“Anything to oblige you, Laura,” he said.

She did not quite like his tone, but felt she might safely leave the rest to Christine.

Mrs. Almar, unaware of these plots, settled down as soon as the meal was over, on a comfortable sofa large enough for two, with a box of cigarettes at her side and a current magazine that contained a new article on flying.  The bird-like objects in the huge page of cloudy sky at once caught Max’s eye.  He came and bent over it and her, with his hands in his pockets.  Still absorbed in it, she half-unconsciously swept aside her skirts, and he sat down beside her.  She murmured a question—­it was only about planes, and he answered it.  Their heads were close together when Christine came down in her dark furs ready to go.  The bells of Jack Ussher’s fastest trotter were already to be heard tinkling at the door.