held the threat of icebergs to be cast loose at any moment; "and sometimes," she added, in search of a little thrill, "we would get back toward shore to find deep openings with clear water dashing beneath—we had been walking on a mere snow-crust half the time."
"Most interesting," said Cope accommodatingly. He saw no winter shore.
"Yes, February was bad, but Mrs. Phillips wanted to make sure, toward the end of the winter, that the house hadn't blown away,—nor the contents; for we have housebreakers every so often. And Hortense wanted to make some 'color-notes.' I believe she's going to try for some more to-day."
"To-day is a good day—unless the October tints are too obvious."
"She says they are not subtle, but that she can use them."
Well, here he was, talking along handily enough. But he had no notion of talking for long about Hortense. He preferred returning to the weather.
"And what does such a day do for you?" he asked.
"Oh, I suppose it helps me in a general way. But my notes, of course, are on paper already."
Yes, he was walking alongside her and holding his own—thus far. She seemed a pretty enough, graceful enough little thing; not so tall by an inch or so as she appeared when seated behind that samovar. On that day she had been reasonably sprightly—toward others, even if not toward him. To-day she seemed meditative, rather; even elegiac—unless there
