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Updated: June 29, 2025
"What kind of character do you give him, good, bad, or indifferent?" Hare's benevolent features showed the astonishment that thrilled him at this blunt question. "I hardly know what to say " he stammered. Spencer liked this cheery vicar and resolved to trust him. "Let me explain," he said. "You and I agree in thinking that Miss Wynton is an uncommonly nice girl.
I am not a lady's man in the general sense of the term, Miss Wynton. I might tell you more about myself if it were not for signs that the next five minutes will bring us to Calais. You are far too independent, I suppose, that I should offer to carry your bag; but will you allow me to reserve a joint table for déjeuner?
"If you will pardon the somewhat unorthodox time and place, I should like to make myself known to you, Miss Wynton," he said, lifting his cap. "You are Mr. Spencer?" she answered, with a frank smile. "Yes, I have a letter of introduction from Mr. Mackenzie." "So have I. What do we do next? Exchange letters? Mine is in the hotel." "Suppose we just shake?"
I know nothing about it, beyond the evidence of my senses, backed up by some acquaintance with blizzards. Anyhow, I am inclined to think that Miss Wynton will be wise if she listens to the points of the argument in the hotel." "Perhaps it would be better to return at once," said Helen timidly.
"There are points about this amazing proposal that require elucidation," said the editor slowly. "Travel articles might possibly come within the scope of 'The Firefly'; but I am aware that Miss Wynton is what might be termed an exceedingly attractive young lady. For instance, you wouldn't be philanthropic on my account." "You never can tell. It all depends how your case appealed to me.
Mackenzie, of course, was aware that Miss Wynton would leave London by the eleven o'clock train on Thursday, and Spencer saw no harm in witnessing her departure. He found a good deal of quiet fun in noting her animated expression and businesslike air.
Spencer, though troubled sufficiently by his own disturbing fantasies, did not fail to notice their peculiar behavior. But he answered Helen with a pleasant disclaimer. "Christian kept his hoard a secret, Miss Wynton. I too have lost my appetite," said he. "Once we start we shall hardly be able to unpack the hamper again," said Helen. The American was trying her temper.
Spencer was on the point of scattering the note in little pieces along the Strand; but he checked himself. "Guess I'll keep this as a souvenir," he said, and it found a place in his pocketbook. Helen Wynton, having crossed the Channel many times during her childhood, was no novice amid the bustle and crush on the narrow pier at Dover.
Watching his chance, he waylaid Helen when her vigilant chaperon was momentarily absorbed in a suggestion that private theatricals and the rehearsal of a minuet would relieve the general tedium while the snow held. "Spare me five minutes, Miss Wynton," he said. "I want to tell you something." Mrs. de la Vere pirouetted round on him before the girl could answer.
'Pon my word, Miss Wynton, you have caused me to evolve a rather poetic explanation of certain gray hairs I have noticed of late among my own raven locks." "You appear to know and love these hills so well that I wonder if you will excuse a personal remark I wonder you ever were able to tear yourself away from them."
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