“Then don’t do it again!” he said, and grasped the little brown hand for a moment with quite unwonted kindness.

It was a tacit forgiveness, and as such Dinah treated it.  She smiled thankfully through her tears, and slipped away to recover her composure.

Nearly an hour later, Scott, having finished his letters, came upon her sitting somewhat disconsolately in the verandah.  He paused on his way out.

“Good morning, Miss Bathurst!  Aren’t you going to skate this morning?”

She turned to him with a little movement of pleasure.  “Good morning, Mr. Studley!  I have been waiting here for you.  I have brought down your sister’s trinkets.  Here they are!” She held out a neat little paper parcel to him.  “Please will you thank her again for them very, very much?  I do hope she didn’t think me very rude last night,—­though I’m afraid I was.”

Her look was wistful.  He took the packet from her with a smile.

“Of course she didn’t.  She was delighted with you.  When are you coming to see her again?”

“I don’t know,” said Dinah.

“Come to tea!” suggested Scott.

Dinah hesitated, flushing.

“You’ve something else to do?” he asked in his cheery way.  “Well, come another time if it won’t bore you!”

“Oh, it isn’t that!” said Dinah, and her flush deepened.  “I—­I would love to come.  Only—­” She glanced round at an elderly couple who had just come out, and stopped.

“I’m going down to the village with my letters,” said Scott.  “Will you come too?”

She welcomed the idea.  “Oh yes, I should like to.  It’s such a glorious morning again, isn’t it?  It’s a shame not to go out.”

“Sure you’re not wanting to skate?” he questioned.

“Yes, quite sure.  I—­I’m rather tired this morning, but a walk will do me good.”

They passed the rink without pausing, though Scott glanced across to see his brother skimming along in the distance with a red-clad figure beside him.  He made no comment upon the sight, and Dinah was silent also.  Her gay animation that morning was wholly a minus quantity.

They went on down the hill, talking but little.  Speech in Scott’s society was never a necessity.  His silences were so obviously friendly.  He had a shrewd suspicion on this occasion that the girl beside him had something to say, and he waited for it with a courteous patience, abstaining from interrupting her very evident preoccupation.

They walked between fields of snow, all glistening in the sunshine.  The blue of the sky was no longer sapphire but glorious turquoise.  The very air sparkled, diamond-clear in the crystal splendour of the day.

Suddenly Dinah spoke.  “I suppose one always feels horrid the next morning.”

“Are you feeling the reaction?” asked Scott.

“Oh, it isn’t only that, I’m feeling—­ashamed,” said Dinah, blushing very deeply.