e in the front of a book--particularly a French book--before
abandoning it to the mercies of a foreign hotel. But the several
fly-leaves were immaculately innocent of all sign of ownership.

So intent was she upon this examination, that she did not hear footsteps
approaching down the long arbour that led from the house; so intent was
the young man upon a frowning scrutiny of the path before him, that he
did not see Constance until he had passed from the arbour into the grove.
Then simultaneously they raised their heads and looked at each other. For
a startled second they stared--rather guiltily--both with the air of
having been caught. Constance recovered her poise first; she nodded--a
nod which contained not the slightest hint of recognition--and laughed.

'Oh!' she said. 'I suppose this is your book? And I am afraid you have
caught me red-handed. You must excuse me for looking at it, but usually
at this season only German Alpine climbers stop at the Hotel du Lac, and
I was surprised, you know, to find that German Alpine climbers did
anything so frivolous as reading Gyp.'

The man bowed with a gesture which made her free of the book, but he
continued his silence. Constance glanced at him again, and this time she
allowed a flash of recognition to appear in her face.

'Oh!' she re-exclaimed with a note of interested politeness, 'you are the
young man who stumbled into Villa Rosa last Monday looking for the garden
of the prince?'

He bowed a second time, an answering flash appearing in his face.

'And you are the young woman who was sitting on the wall beside a row
of--of----'

'Stockings?' She nodded. 'I trust you found the prince's garden without
difficulty?'

'Yes, thank you. Your directions were very explicit.'

A slight pause followed, the young man waiting deferentially for her to
take the lead.

'You find Valedolmo interesting?' she inquired.

'Interesting!' His tone was enthusiastic. 'Aside from the prince's
garden, which contains a cedar of Lebanon and an india-rubber plant from
South America, there is the Luini in the chapel of San Bartolomeo, and
the statue of Garibaldi in the piazza. And then----' he waved his hand
toward the lake, 'there is always the view.'

'Yes,' she agreed, 'one can always look at the view.'

Her eyes wandered to the lake, and across the lake to Monte Maggiore with
clouds drifting about its peak. And while she obligingly studied the
mountain, he studied the effect of the pi