the
old slopes and practise the Christiania Turn."

"What you want to practise is the ordinary Hampstead Straight," I said.
"A medium performance of yours yesterday, Samuel."

"But, my dear old chap," he said eagerly, "I told you it was the fault
of my skis. They would stick to the snow. Oh, I say," he added, "that
reminds me. I must go and buy some wax for them."

He dashed off. I looked at Myra ... and sighed.

"The nail-man won't be long," said Archie to Dahlia, on his return. "I'm
to call for them in a quarter of an hour."

"Can't you wear some other boots, Dahlia, or your bedroom slippers or
something? It's half-past eleven. We really must get off soon."

"But we haven't settled where we're going yet."

"Then for 'eving's sake let's do it. Myra and I thought we might go up
above the wood at the back and explore. We can always ski down. It might
be rather exciting."

"Remember," said Dahlia, "I'm not so expert as you are."

"Of course," said Myra, "we're the Oberland mixed champions."

"You know," said Archie, "I was talking to the man who's doing Dahlia's
boots and he said the snow would be bad for ski-ing to-day."

"If he talked in French, no doubt you misunderstood him," I said, a
little annoyed. "He was probably asking you to buy a pair of skates."

"Talking about that," said Archie, "why shouldn't we skate this morning,
and have lunch at the hotel, and then get the bob out this afternoon?"

"Here you are," said Thomas, coming up with a heavy rucksack. "Lunch for
six, so you'll have an extra one."

"I'd forgotten about lunch," said Archie. "Look here, just talk it over
with Dahlia while I go and see about my skates. I don't suppose Josef
will mind if we do stay in to lunch after all. What about Simpson?"

I looked at Myra ... and sighed.

"What about him?" I said.

. . . . .

Half an hour later two exhausted people--one of them with lunch for six
on his back--began the ascent to the wood, trailing their skis behind
them.

"Another moment," said Myra, "and I should have screamed."

IV.--THOMAS, AND A TURN

Myra finished her orange, dried her hands daintily on my handkerchief,
and spoke her mind.

"This is the third time," she said, "that Thomas has given us the slip.
If he gets engaged to that girl in red I shall cry."

"There are," I said, idly throwing a crust at Simpson and missing him,
"engagements and Swiss engagements--just as there are measles a