ebelled against the man's covert
insolence, and she said quietly:

"No, thank you. I do not care to dance."

"May I sit here and talk?" he persisted.

"I am just going," she said, "and I think Mrs. de la Vere is looking
for you."

By happy chance the woman in question was standing alone in the center
of the ball room, obviously in quest of some man who would take her to
the foyer for a cigarette. Helen retreated with the honors of war; but
the irresistible one only laughed.

"That idiot Georgie told the truth, then," he admitted. "And she knows
what the other women are saying. What cats these dear creatures can
be, to be sure!"

Spencer happened to be an interested onlooker. Indeed, he was trying
to arrive at the best means of obtaining an introduction to Helen when
he saw de la Vere stroll leisurely up to her with the assured air of
one sated by conquest. The girl brushed close to him as he stood in
the passage. She held her head high and her eyes were sparkling. He
had not heard what was said; but de la Vere's discomfiture was so
patent that even his wife smiled as she sailed out on the arm of a
youthful purveyor of cigarettes.

Spencer longed for an opportunity to kick de la Vere; yet, in some
sense, he shared that redoubtable lady-killer's rebuff. He too was
wondering if the social life of a Swiss hotel would permit him to seek
a dance with Helen. Under existing conditions, it would provide quite
a humorous episode, he told himself, to strike up a friendship with
her. He could not imagine why she had adopted such an aloof attitude
toward all and sundry; but it was quite evident that she declined
anything in the guise of promiscuous acquaintance. And he, like her,
felt lonely. There were several Americans in the hotel, and he would
probably meet some of the men in the bar or smoking room after the
dance was ended. But he would have preferred a pleasant chat with
Helen that evening, and now she had gone to her room in a huff.

Then an inspiration came to him. "Guess I'll stir up Mackenzie to send
along an introduction," he said. "A telegram will fix things."

It was not quite so easy to explain matters in the curt language of
the wire, he found, and it savored of absurdity to amaze the
beer-drinking Scot with a long message. So he compromised between
desire and expediency by a letter.

"DEAR MR. MACKENZIE," he wrote, "life is not rapid at this
terminus. It might take on some new features if I ha