she had been plain or dowdy, they
might have been friendly enough. It was an unpardonable offense that
she should be good looking, unchaperoned, and not one of the queerly
assorted mixture they deemed their _monde_. For a few minutes she was
really angry. She realized that her only crime was poverty. Given a
little share of the wealth held by many of these passee matrons and
bold-eyed girls, she would be a reigning star among them, and could
act and talk as she liked. Yet her shyness and reserve would have been
her best credentials to any society that was constituted on a sounder
basis than a gathering of snobs. Among really well-born people she
would certainly have been received on an equal footing until some
valid reason for ostracism was forthcoming. The imported limpets on
this Swiss rock of gentility were not sure of their own grip. Hence,
they strenuously refused to make room for a newcomer until they were
shoved aside.

Poor, disillusioned Helen! When she went to church she prayed to the
good Lord to deliver her and everybody else from envy, hatred, and
malice, and all uncharitableness. She felt now that there might well
be added to the Litany a fresh petition which should include British
communities on the Continent in the list of avoidable evils.

At that instant the piquant face and figure of Millicent Jaques rose
before her mind's eye. She pictured to herself the cool effrontery
with which the actress would crush these waspish women by creating
a court of every eligible man in the place. It was not a healthy
thought, but it was the offspring of sheer vexation, and Helen
experienced her second temptation that day when de la Vere, the
irresistible "Reginald" of Mrs. Vavasour's sketchy reminiscences,
came and asked her to dance.

She recognized him at once. He sat with Mrs. de la Vere at table,
and never spoke to her unless it was strictly necessary. He had
distinguished manners, a pleasant voice, and a charming smile, and he
seemed to be the devoted slave of every pretty woman in the hotel
except his wife.

"Please pardon the informality," he said, with an affability that
cloaked the impertinence. "We are quite a family party at Maloja. I
hear you are staying here some weeks, and we are bound to get to know
each other sooner or later."

Helen could dance well. She was so mortified by the injustice meted
out to her that she almost accepted de la Vere's partnership on the
spur of the moment. But her soul r