Leam was glad to meet again this handsome man who had seen so much and who talked so well.  He was something different from the rest, and so far superior to them all.  But, not being one of those instinctive girls who yield without pressure and fall in love at first sight, there were no flushings nor palpitations as Edgar came up; only a grave little smile stole half timidly over her face, and she forgot that he had insulted her mother’s country by calling her the prettiest Andalusian he had ever seen.

“Do you skate, Miss Dundas?” asked Edgar after a while, during which he had been talking of different matters, beginning with the weather, that camel of English conversation, and ending with the state of the ice and the chances of a thaw.  His five minutes of commonplaces seemed an eternity to Adelaide, watching them jealously from a distance.

“No,” said Leam.

“I want her to learn; and this is a good opportunity,” put in her father.

“You are right.  It is a capital exercise and a graceful accomplishment,” said Edgar.  “I think a woman never looks better than when she is skating,” he added carelessly.

“I think she looks silly,” said Leam.

He laughed.  “That is because you are not English pur sang,” he cried gayly.  “If you had only the brave old Norse blood in you, you would take to the frost and ice like second nature.”

“No, I am not English pur sang,” answered Leam gravely.  “I am more than half Spanish,” a little proudly.

“Hang it all, you can’t make it more than half!” said her father testily.

“And that makes such a splendid combination,” said Edgar, slightly lowering his voice as, ignoring his remark, he turned away from Mr. Dundas and gave himself wholly to Leam.  “Spanish for art and poetry and all the fervid beauty of the South—­English for the courage, the hardihood, the energy of the North.  You ought to cultivate the characteristics of both nationalities, Miss Dundas,” in a louder tone; “and to do justice to one of them you ought to learn to skate.”

“That’s right, Edgar; so I say,” cried Mr. Dundas, who had heard only the last part.

“I cannot learn,” said Leam; but her face became strangely flushed, and she felt her resolution growing limp as her cheeks grew red.

“Yes, you can.  I could teach you in half an hour,” cried Edgar, pulling down his coat-cuffs with an air.

“Go, Leam:  let Major Harrowby give you a lesson,” said her father.  “Perhaps he is a better teacher than that shambling-looking Alick.  Go, child.”

“Shall I?” asked Edgar.  “At least let me assist you to cross the ice, if without skates at first.”

He held out his hand.

“I shall fall,” objected reluctant Leam.

“No, you shall not.  I will answer for that.  Come.  Will you not trust me?” This last phrase was said half tenderly, half with an offended kind of remonstrance, and he was still holding out his hand.