by
the way in which Helen's driver expressed "beautiful thanks" for her
gift. The man seemed to be at once grateful and downhearted. Of
course, the impression was of the slightest, but Spencer had been
trained in reaching vital conclusions on meager evidence. He could not
wait to listen to Helen's words, so he passed into the hotel, having
the American habit of leaving the care of his baggage to the hall
porter. He wondered why Helen was so late in arriving that he had
caught her up on the very threshold of the Kursaal, so to speak. He
would not forget the driver's face, and if he met the man again, it
might be possible to find out the cause of the delay. He himself was
before time. The federal railway authorities at Coire, awaking to the
fact that the holiday rush was beginning, had actually dispatched a
relief train to St. Moritz when the second important train of the day
turned up as full as its predecessor.

At dinner Helen and he sat at little tables in the same section of the
huge dining hall. The hotel was nearly full, and it was noticeable
that they were the only persons who dined alone. Indeed, the head
waiter asked Spencer if he cared to join a party of men who sat
together; but he declined. There was no such general gathering of
women; so Helen was given no alternative, and she ate the meal in
silence.

She saw Mrs. Vavasour in a remote part of the salon. With her was a
vacuous looking young man who seldom spoke to her but was continually
addressing remarks to a woman at another table.

"That is the son lost at Lucerne," she decided, finding in his face
some of the physical traits but none of the calculating shrewdness of
his mother.

After a repast of many courses Helen wandered into the great hall,
found an empty chair, and longed for someone to speak to. At the first
glance, everybody seemed to know everybody else. That was not really
the case, of course. There were others present as neglected and
solitary as Helen; but the noise and merriment of the greater number
dominated the place. It resembled a social club rather than a hotel.

Her chair was placed in an alley along which people had to pass who
wished to reach the glass covered veranda. She amused herself by
trying to pick out the Wraggs, the Burnham-Joneses, and the de la
Veres. Suddenly she was aware that Mrs. Vavasour and her son were
coming that way; the son unwillingly, the mother with an air of
determination. Perhaps the Lucerne episode