peech that annoyed Cecil, who turned it off
with a short answer. It might have been that she did not like him so
composedly contemplating such a possibility.

Du Meresq said no more, perhaps because they were approaching the
toboggin hill, or perhaps, like Dr. Johnson, he had nothing ready.

Cecil was sorry they were so near. She felt more interested in the
conversation than in the party, and gazed wistfully down a by road that
would have led them in an opposite direction.

"I wish I dare turn sharp off," thought she. "But, no! we are
conventional beings. This idiotic performance is the goal and object
of our expedition. I am driving, and must do nothing so indecently
eccentric."

So she gave "Wings" a flick with her whip, that sent him up to his bit
with his knees in his mouth, and they drew rein on the edge of the snow
mountain.

Miss Tremaine's bright face was just on a level with the top, drawing up
her own toboggin.

"Here's this dear little Lily," said Bertie.

"Your diminutives are curiously applied," said Cecil. "That is a very
substantial _petite_."

"How late you are," cried Miss Tremaine, rushing up to them. 'Wings,' who
couldn't bear waiting, began to rear. "Gracious, Cecil, does he feed on
yeast-powder to make him 'rise' so? How do you do, Captain Du Meresq?
Come along; there's some capital jumps. Here's my little brother will
hang on to the horse's head till we find some one else, if you are sure
'Wings' will not soar away with him, like an eagle with a lamb."

"I'd better billet him on that farm," said Du Meresq, driving off.

"And I must go and speak to Mrs. Armstrong," said Cecil.

CHAPTER XI.

EFFECTS OF TOBOGGINING.

With a slow and noiseless footstep

Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.
--Longfellow.

A little further on, by a blazing fire, was seated the hostess and about
a dozen other people on benches and rugs; a table spread with
refreshments and hot liquids attracted as many more. The grey sky and
white ground threw out the figures solidly, the only patches of colour
being the bright petticoats of the ladies as they flashed down or toiled
up the snow mountain.

"Have a 'cock-tail,' Miss Rolleston?" said Captain Wilmot, of the
Fusiliers. "I have just made a capital one; and then may I steer you down
on my toboggin?"

Cecil accepted both propositions. "But do take mine, for I have never
tried it yet."

"What