He struck out mightily.  Presently the swift Camilla let herself be overtaken.

“Good morning, Miss Purtett.” (Dogged air.)

“Good morning, Mr. Tarbox.” (Taken-by-surprise air.)

“I’ve been admiring your skating,” says Bill, trying to be cool.

“Have you?” rejoins Belle, very cool and distant.

“Have you been long on the ice?” he inquired, hypocritically.

“I came on two hours ago with Mr. Ringdove and the girls,” returned she, with a twinkle which said, “Take that, Sir, for pretending you did not see me.”

“You’ve seen Mr. Wade skate, then,” Bill said, ignoring Ringdove.

“Yes; isn’t it splendid?” Belle replied, kindling.

“Tip-top!”

“But then he does everything better than anybody.”

“So he does!” Bill said,—­true to his friend, and yet beginning to be jealous of this enthusiasm.  It was not the first time he had been jealous of Wade; but he had quelled his fears, like a good fellow.

Belle perceived Bill’s jealousy, and could have cried for joy.  She had known as little of her once lover’s heart as he of hers.  She only knew that he stopped coming to see her when he fell, and had not renewed his visits now that he was risen again.  If she had not been charmingly ruddy with the brisk air and exercise, she would have betrayed her pleasure at Bill’s jealousy with a fine blush.

The sense of recovered power made her wish to use it again.  She must tease him a little.  So she continued, as they skated on in good rhythm,—­

“Mother and I wouldn’t know what to do without Mr. Wade.  We like him so much,”—­said ardently.

What Bill feared was true, then, he thought.  Wade, noble fellow, worthy to win any woman’s heart, had fascinated his landlady’s daughter.

“I don’t wonder you like him,” said he.  “He deserves it.”

Belle was touched by her old lover’s forlorn tone.

“He does indeed,” she said.  “He has helped and taught us all so much.  He has taken such good care of Perry.  And then”—­here she gave her companion a little look and a little smile—­“he speaks so kindly of you, Mr. Tarbox.”

Smile, look, and words electrified Bill.  He gave such a spring on his skates that he shot far ahead of the lady.  He brought himself back with a sharp turn.

“He has done kinder than he can speak,” says Bill.  “He has made a man of me again, Miss Belle.”

“I know it.  It makes me very happy to hear you able to say so of yourself.”  She spoke gravely.

“Very happy”—­about anything that concerned him?  Bill had to work off his overjoy at this by an exuberant flourish.  He whisked about Belle,—­outer edge backward.  She stopped to admire.  He finished by describing on the virgin ice, before her, the letters B.P., in his neatest style of podography,—­easy letters to make, luckily.

“Beautiful!” exclaimed Belle.  “What are those letters?  Oh!  B.P.!  What do they stand for?”