was about to be explained.

When young Vavasour's eyes fell on Helen, the boredom vanished from
his face. It was quite obvious that he called his mother's attention
to her and asked who she was. Helen felt that an introduction was
imminent. She was glad of it. At that moment she would have chatted
gayly with even a greater ninny than George de Courcy Vavasour.

But she had not yet grasped the peculiar idiosyncrasies of a
woman who was famous for snubbing those whom she considered to be
"undesirables." Helen looked up with a shy smile, expecting that the
older woman would stop and speak; but Mrs. Vavasour gazed at her
blankly--looked at the back of her chair through her body--and walked
on.

"I don't know, George," Helen heard her say. "There are a lot of new
arrivals. Some person of no importance, rather declassee, I should
imagine by appearances. As I was telling you, the General has
arranged----"

Taken altogether, Helen had crowded into portions of two days many new
and some very unpleasant experiences.

CHAPTER V

AN INTERLUDE

Helen rose betimes next morning; but she found that the sun had kept
an earlier tryst. Not a cloud marred a sky of dazzling blue. The
phantom mist had gone with the shadows. From her bed room window she
could see the whole length of the Ober-Engadin, till the view was
abruptly shut off by the giant shoulders of Lagrev and Rosatch. The
brilliance of the coloring was the landscape's most astounding
feature. The lakes were planes of polished turquoise, the rocks pure
grays and browns and reds, the meadows emerald green, while the
shining white patches of snow on the highest mountain slopes helped to
blacken by contrast the somber clumps of pines that gathered thick
wherever man had not disputed with the trees the tenancy of each foot
of meager loam.

This morning glory of nature gladdened the girl's heart and drove
from it the overnight vapors. She dressed hurriedly, made a light
breakfast, and went out.

There was no need to ask the way. In front of the hotel the narrow
Silser See filled the valley. Close behind lay the crest of the pass.
A picturesque chateau was perched on a sheer rock overhanging the Vale
of Bregaglia and commanding a far flung prospect almost to the brink
of Como. On both sides rose the mountain barriers; but toward the east
there was an inviting gorge, beyond which the lofty Cima di Rosso
flung its eternal snows heavenward.

A footpath led in that d