g with him. Ussher explained that the skating was
spoiled, and Christine under cover of this diversion managed to avoid
committing herself.

As a matter of fact her afternoon was arranged. She had told Laura Ussher
a pathetic story of having to go over to her father's house, and look up
an old fur coat of his which had been left behind when the house was shut
for the winter. Mr. Fenimer was known to be rather an irritable parent
where questions of his own comfort were concerned; it was not impossible
that he would make himself disagreeable if his orders were not carried
out. Laura did not inquire very closely, but she agreed that the best way
for Christine to traverse the distance would be for Riatt to drive her
over in the cutter. Riatt sat next to Laura at luncheon, and she put it
to him, when the general conversation was loudest.

"Would you mind awfully driving poor little Christine over to her own
place to get something or other for that horrid father of hers?"

Of course Riatt didn't say he did mind; as a matter of fact he didn't. He
might even have enjoyed the prospect, if it hadn't been for the slight
hint of compulsion about it.

"It's snowing, you know," he said.

"It doesn't amount to anything," answered his cousin. "But surely, Max,
you're not afraid of a little snow, if she isn't!"

"Anything to oblige you, Laura," he said.

She did not quite like his tone, but felt she might safely leave the rest
to Christine.

Mrs. Almar, unaware of these plots, settled down as soon as the meal was
over, on a comfortable sofa large enough for two, with a box of
cigarettes at her side and a current magazine that contained a new
article on flying. The bird-like objects in the huge page of cloudy sky
at once caught Max's eye. He came and bent over it and her, with his
hands in his pockets. Still absorbed in it, she half-unconsciously swept
aside her skirts, and he sat down beside her. She murmured a
question--it was only about planes, and he answered it. Their heads were
close together when Christine came down in her dark furs ready to go.
The bells of Jack Ussher's fastest trotter were already to be heard
tinkling at the door.

"Are you ready, Max?" said Laura, rather sharply.

"Laura expects every man to do his duty," murmured Nancy, without
looking up.

Riatt expressed himself as entirely ready. Ussher lent him a fur cap and
heavy gloves, warned him about the charmingly uncertain character of the
horse; he a