“Shall we pretend we are enjoying ourselves?” said Scott with a smile.

She answered him with feverish earnestness.  “Yes—­yes!  Let us do that!  And, Stumpy, Stumpy dear, you are good, you can pray.  I can’t, you know.  Will you—­will you pray sometimes—­that I may find him?”

“I shall pray that your eyes may be opened, Isabel,” he answered, “so that you may know you have never really lost him.”

She smiled again, her fleeting, phantom smile.  “Don’t pray for the impossible, Stumpy!” she said.  “I—­I think that would be a mistake.”

“Is anything impossible?” said Scott.

He raised his hand before she could make any answer, and sent a cheery holloa down to his brother who waved a swift response.  They quickened their steps to meet him.

Eustace was striding up the hill with the easy swing of a giant.  He held out both hands to Isabel as he drew near.  She pulled herself free from Scott, and went to him as one drawn by an unseen force.

“Ah, that’s right,” he said, and bent to kiss her.  “I’m glad you’ve been for a walk.  But you might have come and spoken to me first.  I was only on the rink.”

“I didn’t want to see a lot of people,” said Isabel, shrinking a little.  “I—­I don’t like so many strangers, Eustace.”

“Oh, nonsense!” he said lightly.  “You have been buried too long.  It’s time you came out of your shell.  I shan’t take you home again till you have quite got over that.”

His tone was kindly but it held authority.  Isabel attempted no protest.  Only she looked away over the sparkling world of white and blue with something near akin to despair in her eyes.

Scott took out his cigarette-case, and handed it to his brother.  “Isabel’s birthday present to me!” he said.

Eustace examined it with a smile.  “Very nice!  Did you think of it all by yourself, Isabel?”

“No,” she said with dreary listlessness.  “Biddy reminded me.”

Eustace’s face changed.  He frowned slightly and gave the case back to his brother.

“Have a cigarette!” said Scott.

He took one absently, and Scott did the same.

“How did you get on with the lady in red?” he asked.

Eustace threw him a glance half-humorous, half-malicious.  “If it comes to that, how did you get on with the little brown girl?”

“Oh, very nicely,” smiled Scott.  “Her name is Dinah.  Your lady’s name is Rose de Vigne, if you care to know.”

“Really?” said Eustace.  “And who told you that?”

“Dinah, of course, or Dinah’s brother.  I forget which.  They belong to the same party.”

“I should think that little snub-nosed person feels somewhat in the shade,” observed Eustace.

“I expect she does.  But she has plenty of wits to make up for it.  She seems to find life quite an interesting entertainment.”

“She can’t skate a bit,” said Eustace.