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Updated: June 29, 2025
The editor sat down suddenly and combed his whiskers with nervous fingers. He was a weak man, and a too liberal beer diet was not good for him. "Are you in earnest, Mr. Spencer?" he queried in a bewildered way. "Dead in earnest. You write the necessary letter to Miss Wynton while I am here, and I hand you the first twenty in notes.
"Miss Wynton is just going to bed," she informed him graciously. "You know how tired she is, Mr. Spencer. You must wait till the morning." "I don't feel like waiting; but I promise to cut down my remarks to one minute by the clock." He answered Mrs. de la Vere, but looked at Helen. Her color rose and fell almost with each beat of her heart.
Although the wind was howling under the deep eaves of the hut, he almost whispered. "Yes, you are right quite right. Let us go now at once. With you and me, Mr. Spencer, Miss Wynton will be safe safer than with the guides. They can follow with the stores. Come! There is no time to be lost!" The others were so taken aback by his astounding change of front that they were silent for an instant.
Helen's ears were tuned to this perplexing note; but Spencer interpreted it according to his dislike of the man. "Stampa heard," he went on, with cold-drawn precision, "that Miss Wynton had gone to the Forno.
She made a bad break in attacking Miss Wynton; but when she set about Bower she was running on a strong scent. Sit tight, Mr. Hare. Don't take sides, or whoop up the wrong spout, and you'll see heaps of fun before you're much older." Mightily incensed, the younger man turned away. The vicar produced his handkerchief and trumpeted into it loudly.
He wondered why? Had Bower been too confident, too sure of his prey to guard his tongue? Of all the unlooked for developments that could possibly be bound up with the harmless piece of midsummer madness that sent Helen Wynton to Switzerland, surely this roué's presence was the most irritating and perplexing. Then from the road came another stanza from the wine bibbers, now homeward bound.
Even Helen, somewhat awed by the dimensions of the rift, understood that the existence of this natural arch was as well recognized by Alpinists as Waterloo Bridge is known to dwellers on the south side of the Thames. "Now, Miss Wynton, you should experience your first real thrill," said Bower. "This bridge forms here every year at this season, and an army might cross in safety.
For Helen's sake, in the presence of that rabbit-eared crowd, he would not brook the unmerited flood of sarcastic indignation which he knew was trembling on her lips. "Miss Wynton has had an exhausting day," he said coolly. "She must go straight to her room, and rest. You two can meet and talk after dinner." Without further preamble, he took Helen's arm. Millicent barred the way.
"I believe you would succeed." Spencer smiled again. He had not credited Mrs. de la Vere with such fine perceptiveness. If her words meant anything, they implied an alliance, offensive and defensive, for Helen's benefit and his own. "Guess we'll leave it right there till I've had a few words with Miss Wynton," he said, dropping suddenly into colloquial phrase. "A heart to heart talk, in fact."
"Did Helen Wynton dine in public yesterday evening?" she demanded. "Rather! Quite a lively crowd they were too." "Indeed. Who were the others?" "Oh, the Badminton-Smythes, and the Bower man, and that American what's his name?" Then Millicent laughed shrilly. She saw her chance of delivering a deadly stroke, and took it without mercy. "The American? Spencer? What a delightful mixture!
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