She
made haste to go on, with something like the voluntary hardiness of the
courage that plucks itself from the primary emotion of fear, "You are
going down to try the skating?"
"Do I look it, without skates?"
"You may be going to try the sliding," she returned. "I'm afraid there
won't be much of either for long. This soft air is going to make havoc
of my plans for to-morrow."
"That's too bad of it. Why not hope for a hard freeze to-night? You
might as well. The weather has been known to change its mind. You might
even change your plans."
"No, I can't do that. I can't think of anything else. It's to bridge
over the day that's left before Seeing Ghosts. If it does freeze, you'll
come to Mrs. Westangle's afternoon tea on the pond?"
"I certainly shall. How is it to be worked?"
"She's to have her table on a platform, with runners, in a bower of
evergreen boughs, and be pushed about, and the people are to skate up for
the tea. There are to be tea and chocolate, and two girls to pour, just
as in real life. It isn't a very dazzling idea, but I thought it might
do; and Mrs. Westangle is so good-natured. Now, if the thermometer will
do its part!"
"I am sure it will," Verrian said, but a glance at the gray sky did not
confirm him in his prophetic venture.
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