e me respect him and sympathize with his
troubles."

The manager shook his head, with the air of one who recalls that
which he would willingly have forgotten. "Such incidents are rare
in Switzerland," he said. "I well remember the sensation her death
created. She was such a pretty girl. The young men at Pontresina
called her 'The Edelweiss' because she was so inaccessible. In fact,
poor Stampa had educated her beyond her station, and that is not
always good for a woman, especially in these quiet valleys, where
knowledge of cattle and garden produce is a better asset than speaking
French and playing the piano."

Spencer agreed. He could name other districts where the same rule held
good. He stood for a moment in the spacious hall to light a cigar.
Involuntarily he glanced at Helen. She met his gaze, and said
something to Bower that caused the latter also to turn and look.

"She has read Mackenzie's letter," thought Spencer, taking refuge
behind a cloud of smoke. "It will be bad behavior on my part to leave
the hotel without making my bow. Shall I go to her now, or wait till
morning?"

He reflected that Helen might be out early next day. If he presented
his introduction at once, she would probably ask him to sit with her a
little while, and then he must become acquainted with Bower. He
disliked the notion; but he saw no way out of it, unless indeed Helen
treated him with the chilling abruptness she meted out to other men in
the hotel who tried to become friendly with her. He was weighing the
pros and cons dispassionately, when the English chaplain approached.

"Do you play bridge, Mr. Spencer?" he asked.

"I know the leads, and call 'without' on the least provocation," was
the reply.

"You are the very man I am searching for, and I have the authority of
the First Book of Samuel in my quest."

"Well, now, that is the last place in which I should expect to find my
bridge portrait."

"Don't you remember how Saul's servants asked his permission to 'seek
out a man who is a cunning player'? That is exactly what I am doing.
Come to the smoking room. There are two other men there, and one is a
fellow countryman of yours."

The Rev. Mr. Hare was a genial soul, a Somersetshire vicar who took
his annual holiday by accepting a temporary position in some Alpine
village where there was an English church. He did not dream that he
was acting the part of Hermes, messenger of the gods, at that moment,
for indeed his appearanc