he Brenva ascent of Mont Blanc, the Col Dolent, the two
points of the Aiguille du Dru and the Aiguille Verte.

"But you, too, have climbed," Chayne cried at length.

"On winter nights by my fireside," replied Garratt Skinner, with a smile.
"I have a lame leg which would hinder me."

"Nevertheless, you left Miss Sylvia and myself behind when you led us
over the hills to Dorchester."

It was Walter Hine who interrupted. He had come across the grass from
behind, and neither of the two men had noticed his approach. But the
moment when he did interrupt marked a change in their demeanor. The
comradeship which had so quickly bloomed as quickly faded. It was the
flower of an idle moment. Antagonism preceded and followed it. Thus, one
might imagine, might sentries at the outposts of opposing armies pile
their arms for half an hour and gossip of their homes or their children,
or of something dear to both of them and separate at the bugle sound.
Garratt Skinner swung himself out of his hammock.

"Where's Sylvia, Wallie?"

"She went up to her room."

Chayne waited for ten minutes, and for another ten, and still Sylvia did
not appear. She was avoiding him. She could spend the afternoon with
Walter Hine, but she must run to her room when he came upon the scene.
Jealousy flamed up in him. Every now and then a whimsical smile of
amusement showed upon Garratt Skinner's face and broadened into a grin.
Chayne was looking a fool, and was quite conscious of it. He rose
abruptly from his chair.

"I must be going," he said, over loudly, and Garratt Skinner smiled.

"I'm afraid she won't hear that," he said softly, measuring with his eyes
the distance between the group and the house. "But come again, Captain
Chayne, and sit it out."

Chayne flushed with anger. He said, "Thank you," and tried to say it
jauntily and failed. He took his leave and walked across the lawn to the
garden, trying to assume a carriage of indifference and dignity. But
every moment he expected to hear the two whom he had left laughing at his
discomfiture. Neither, however, did laugh. Walter Hine was, indeed,
indignant.

"Why did you ask him to come again?" he asked, angrily, as the garden
door closed upon Chayne.

Garratt Skinner laid his hand on Walter Hine's arm.

"Don't you worry, Wallie," he said, confidentially. "Every time Chayne
comes here he loses ten marks. Give him rope! He does not, after all,
know a great deal of geography."

CHAPTER XV