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“Here you are at last,” said Archie impatiently. “What are we all going to do?”

“Where’s Dahlia?” asked Myra. “Let’s wait till she comes and then we can all talk at once.”

“Here she is. Dahlia, for Heaven’s sake come and tell us the arrangements for the day. Start with the idea fixed in your mind that Myra and I have ordered lunch for six.”

Dahlia shepherded us to a quiet corner of the lounge and we all sat down.

“By the way,” said Simpson, “are there any letters for me?”

“No; it’s your turn to write,” said Archie.

“But, my dear chap, there must be one, because—-“

“But you never acknowledged the bed-socks,” I pointed out. “She can’t write till you—- I mean, it was rather forward of her to send them at all; and if you haven’t even—-“

“Well,” said Dahlia, “what does anybody want to do?”

Thomas was the first to answer the question. A girl in red came in from the breakfast-room and sat down near us. She looked up in our direction and met Thomas’s eye.

“Good morning,” said Thomas, with a smile, and he left us and moved across to her.

“That’s the girl he danced with all last night,” whispered Myra. “I can’t think what’s come over him. Is this our reserved Thomas–Thomas the taciturn, whom we know and love so well? I don’t like the way she does her hair.”

“She’s a Miss Aylwyn,” said Simpson in a loud voice. “I had one dance with her myself.”

“The world,” said Archie, “is full of people with whom Samuel has had one dance.”

“Well, that washes Thomas out, anyway. He’ll spend the day teaching her something. What are the rest of us going to do?”

There was a moment’s silence.

“Oh, Archie,” said Dahlia, “did you get those nails put in my boots?”

I looked at Myra … and sighed.

“Sorry, dear,” he said. “I’ll take them down now. The man will do them in twenty minutes.” He walked over to the lift at the same moment that Thomas returned to us.

“I say,” began Thomas, a little awkwardly, “if you’re arranging what to do, don’t bother about me. I rather thought of–er–taking it quietly this morning. I think I overdid it a bit yesterday.”

“We warned you at the time about the fourth hard-boiled egg,” I said.

“I meant the ski-ing. We thought of–I thought of having lunch in the hotel, but, of course, you can have my rucksack to carry yours in. Er–I’ll go and put it in for you.”

He disappeared rather sheepishly in the direction of the dining-room.

“Now, Samuel,” said Myra gently.

“Now what, Myra?”

“It’s your turn. If you have a headache, tell us her name.”

“My dear Myra, I want to ski to-day. Where shall we go? Let’s go to the old slopes and practise the Christiania Turn.”

“What you want to practise is the ordinary Hampstead Straight,” I said. “A medium performance of yours yesterday, Samuel.”

“But, my dear old chap,” he said eagerly, “I told you it was the fault of my skis. They would stick to the snow. Oh, I say,” he added, “that reminds me. I must go and buy some wax for them.”

He dashed off. I looked at Myra … and sighed.

“The nail-man won’t be long,” said Archie to Dahlia, on his return. “I’m to call for them in a quarter of an hour.”

“Can’t you wear some other boots, Dahlia, or your bedroom slippers or something? It’s half-past eleven. We really must get off soon.”

“But we haven’t settled where we’re going yet.”

“Then for ‘eving’s sake let’s do it. Myra and I thought we might go up above the wood at the back and explore. We can always ski down. It might be rather exciting.”

“Remember,” said Dahlia, “I’m not so expert as you are.”

“Of course,” said Myra, “we’re the Oberland mixed champions.”

“You know,” said Archie, “I was talking to the man who’s doing Dahlia’s boots and he said the snow would be bad for ski-ing to-day.”

“If he talked in French, no doubt you misunderstood him,” I said, a little annoyed. “He was probably asking you to buy a pair of skates.”