Surely enough, as Peter glanced behind he saw a gigantic profile grow on the smooth surface beneath Betty’s little foot, and the skaters around them paused to wonder and admire.

“There,” said Betty, making a final flourish, “come back to the bank and let us find Kitty.”  But as they flew along Betty saw a familiar red coat appear beside Kitty’s advancing figure, so dropping Peter’s hand she dashed off in an opposite direction.  She headed for the north bank, which was less crowded, but slacked her speed a little, fearing an air-hole, as she debated which way to turn.

“Mistress Betty,” said a voice just behind her, and with a little start she realized that the obnoxious scarlet coat had reached her side, “will you skate a turn with me down the pond?”

“Surely,” and Betty’s most roguish smile beamed into Yorke’s eyes as she wheeled toward him.  “Perhaps you will try a race with me, Captain Yorke?”

“With pleasure, and for what stakes?” returned Yorke, bending down to secure a strap which he felt loosen.

“I meant but a trial of speed to the bridge there, where we cross the Minetta Water.  A stake?  Well, name it.”

“A knot of rose-colored ribbon,” said Yorke softly.

“Another!” cried Betty unguardedly, and could have promptly bitten her tongue for the betrayal of her thought.

“Ah, then you do remember?” asked Yorke.  “In what have I so deeply offended that I can scarce gain speech of you!  Why do you flout one who longs to show you his devotion?”

“You forget, sir,” said Betty coldly, “the coat you wear.  Do you fancy that scarlet commends itself to a rebel maid like me, or that the cause you represent can be aught but hateful to a loyal Wolcott?”

“Betty, Betty!  I do beseech you”—­

“Nay, we will put entreaty outside the question.  A race, I think I said, Captain Yorke.  I will make the stake that self-same bow of rose-color—­if you have kept it so long.”

An indignant flush dyed Yorke’s face.  “So be it,” he said briefly, and in a flash they were off; she, graceful, and almost like a winged bird, as she sped along; and he, tall, straight, and muscular, with a long, staying stroke, which impelled Betty’s admiration.  The distance to the bridge was a good half mile, and the spectators on the hill presently perceived the racing pair, and from the cries and shouts which arose she learned, to her added chagrin, that they were seen, and their trial of speed would be eagerly followed.  On flew Betty, so intent upon reaching her goal that she never noticed how Yorke crept closer and closer; they were almost to the bridge, when his voice sounded at her shoulder:—­

“You should have the race, sweetheart, but I cannot part with the ribbon,” and with a sudden rush Yorke darted past her and gained the bridge barely three seconds in advance.

“Forgive me,” he had time to whisper, as Betty stood still, with flashing eyes and half-quivering lip, while they waited for Peter, Kitty, and Philip Livingston, who had followed them down the course; “’twas too dear a stake for me to lose.”  But as the words left his lips, to his astonishment and delight, with all a child’s frankness, Betty gave him her hand.