Away to the left rose the jagged Diablerets peaks; and away to the right the spreading mass of the Dent du Midi. Just opposite, with lesser green heights between, a great range of bare rock-mountains lifted itself high into the blue sky. Doris stood in rapt delight, drinking it all in, studying wondrous outlines, curves, and flutings. Then a feeling of being watched made her turn. She still looked at nobody, but walked to her own seat and took it, forgetting to bow as she did so. One of the smiling waitresses was already there, with a small teapot; and Doris was about to inquire whether Mrs. Brutt's needs had received attention. But the idea fled. Lifting her eyes, she met the gaze of a steady grey pair, at the same table, just on the other side. The flash of pleasure in her face came before she was aware; and it met a like flash in his. But she knew at once that he had seen her before she saw him. He was not taken by surprise. "So you have come to this hotel," she said, a little confused at having shown what she felt. It was like meeting an old friend, she said to herself. Yet she had seen him but once before. He said—"Yes,"—smiling; and as before, with the smile came a nameless charm, amounting to far more than ordinary good looks. "And you are still here?" "We've taken our rooms for six weeks. It's a perfectly—ripping place!" "Seems so this morning. I got in last night." "Are you going up a mountain to-day?" "To-morrow. The Grand Muveran." "Not alone!" "No. I believe a guide is necessary—unless one is in a guideless party of experts." Doris dimpled. "I heard an English lady at Bex talking about the Grand-move-her-on, and the Petty-move-her-on." "Which fixed the names." "Don't you like the way the Grand Muveran stands? He throws up his head with such an air. And the Petit Muveran beside him is—Impudence beside Dignity." He laughed, and asked: "Have you had any excursions yet?" "Oh no, I've only wandered a little near at hand. But I'm aching to get higher—right up somewhere. Mrs. Brutt can't climb, and we keep to the roads. But I mean to do a little scrambling by myself." He put down his knife, looking at her gravely. "That won't do! You say this is your first visit to Switzerland. You might be over a precipice, before you dreamt of danger." "I'll be careful." "Care is not enough without experience. The most innocent-looking grass-slopes are often the most deadly. Have you nails in your shoes?" "No. Ought I?" "It's not safe in these parts to leave the beaten track without them. If you take your boots to a village shoemaker, he will put in the nails. And you should get a strong pointed stick." "And then I shall be all right?" He shook his head. "Not even then—going alone. Have you no one to walk with?"