"To say nothing of orange blossoms," interjected Grace.
"I said oranges!" went on Mollie, putting emphasis on the word. "I like them as well as anyone, but I love winter and skating and ice boating, too."
"Oh, I just can't bear cold weather!" said Grace, with a shiver, and a look toward the chair on which, in a fluffy pile, rested her furs—and Grace looked handsome in the sable set that her father had given to her at Christmas.
"You didn't seem so cold when we were up in the old lumber camp," remarked Betty. "You skated and ice-boated with the rest of us, and seemed to enjoy it."
"I know, but it was a different sort of cold tip there—so dry, and not so penetrating as down here. The wind seems to go right through me," and again the tall girl shivered.
"It doesn't take long" began Mollie, and then she stopped short and bit her lips to keep back a smile.
"Long to do what?" asked Grace, curiously.
"Never mind," spoke Mollie. "You might get angry."
"I will not. I haven't your"
This time it was Grace who caught herself in time.
