"Looks as if the fancy dress is a minus quantity," observed Billy to his
companion with a grin. "I didn't see any of it, did you?"
Scott tried not to laugh. "Your sister?" he asked.
Billy nodded affirmation. "She ain't a bad urchin," he observed, "as
sisters go. We're staying here along with the de Vignes. Ever met 'em?
Lady Grace is a holy terror. Her husband is a horrible stuck-up bore of
an Anglo-Indian,--thinks himself everybody, and tells the most awful
howlers. Rose--that's the daughter--is by way of being very beautiful.
There she goes now; see? That golden-haired girl in red! She's another of
your beastly star skaters. I'll bet she'll have that big bounder cutting
capers with her before the day's out."
"Think so?" said Scott.
Billy nodded again. "I suppose he's a prince at least. My word, doesn't
he fancy himself? Look at that now? Side--sheer side!"
The skater under discussion had just executed a most intricate figure not
far from them. Having accomplished it with that unerring and somewhat
blatant confidence that so revolted Billy's schoolboy soul, he
straightened his tall figure, and darted in a straight line for the end
of the rink above which they stood. His hands were in his pockets. His
bearing was superb. He described a complete circle below them before he
brought himself to a stand. Then he lifted his dark arrogant face. He
wore a short clipped moustache which by no means hid the strength of a
well-modelled though slightly sneering mouth.
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