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138 was comely and healthy and normal: his delight, when he was tired of every sort of ailment; his luxury, which already had given him two pretty children. . . . People were skating in front of her, behind her, like the pair of them; and she was proud that she was skating with her husband; she would not let him go; he was hers; he was hers. . ..

It was fortunate that it had begun to freeze. They had had three fine days and this was the fourth; and already—alas!—a touch of thaw seemed to slacken the crystal-clear firmness of the sky which had been so transparent at first. But still the ice was in no way impaired; a trip was planned and Mathilde felt sure that Addie would come. And great was her disappointment when he said:

"Not to-day, Tilly. I must go to my patients this morning."

"You managed with the afternoon yesterday."

"I can't wait so long this time: there's an old woman who expects me. And Marietje isn't so well to-day: Mary, I mean, as Mamma calls her."

"Then I sha'n't go either," she said, crossly.

"Why shouldn't you go?" he persisted, gently.

"You enjoy it so."

"With you."

"I can't come this morning."

"Yes, you can . . . to please me."

"No, I can't come this morning, Tilly. But you would please me by going."

"I like skating with you."

His eyes laughed.

"And do you imagine that I don't enjoy it?"

"You don't love me."

"You know better."

"Then come."

"Not this morning."