"A girl," Miss Macroyd continued, "might do it by posing effectively for
amateur photography. Or doing something original in dramatics or
pantomimics or recitation--but very original, because chic people are
critical. Or if she had a gift for getting up things that would show
other girls off; or suggesting amusements; but that would be rather in
the line of swell people, who are not good at getting up things and are
glad of help."

"I see, I see!" Verrian said, eagerly. But he walked along looking down
at the snow, and not meeting the laughing glance that Miss Macroyd cast
at his face. "Well?"

"I believe that's all," she said, sharply. She added, less sharply:
"She couldn't afford to fail, though, at any point. The fad that fails
is extinguished forever. Will these simple facts do for fiction? Or is
it for somebody in real life you're asking, Mr. Verrian?"

"Oh, for fiction. And thank you very much. Oh, that's rather pretty!"




XIII.

They had come into the meadow where the snow battle was to be, and on its
slope, against the dark weft of the young birch-trees, there was a mimic
castle outlined in the masonry of white blocks quarried from the drifts
and built up in courses like rough blocks of marble. A decoration of
green from the pines that mixed with the birches had been suggested