“Yes,” she faltered. “But no one knows, here, oh, how can you have guessed?” “Why it is the talk of the hotel,” said Dick Lewisham. “Every one sees that he cares for you and that you encourage him.” Her eyes dilated. For a moment she stared at him blankly, “What can you mean?” she cried. “He is in England, and no one here knows--no one must know.” “Everyone is saying that you and Mr. Wylie care for each other; if that is true I will trouble you no more.” “They are saying that!” she exclaimed. “How perfectly ridiculous of them!” and in the sudden revulsion of feeling she burst out laughing, “Why I have known him since I was a little girl, and even then he seemed to me quite elderly. My chief reason for liking him as a friend is that he was always kind to Ralph as well as to me when we were children.” Then in a flash it all came back to Dick Lewisham; once more he stood in the grounds of the hotel at Zermatt watching the afterglow, and listening to what was more or less meaningless talk to him about a young actor named Ralph Denmead. It was somehow less hard to him to retire before an unknown rival; it was Bruce Wylie he so cordially detested. Moreover in having thus surprised Evereld Ewart’s secret, his position had been changed whether he would or no, from that of lover to friend and protector. He knew what no one else in the place knew, and this gave him, in spite of his rejection, a sort of soothing sensation. His admiration for Evereld had been very genuine, but it had been the sort of love which strikes no very deep roots in the heart. He was now only chivalrously anxious to help her in any way he could. “I will go away from the place at once if you would rather,” he said, after a somewhat prolonged pause. “But you may trust me always to respect what you have told me.” “Then don’t go,” she said, giving him her hand. “I always knew I could like you as a friend if only you had understood how things were. I think I won’t dance again to-night. We are to have a long excursion to-morrow. I will say good-night to you and run in.” “And if at any time I can serve you, be sure you remember me,” said Dick Lewisham looking into the truthful blue eyes lifted to his. “I will indeed,” she said. “We only wait to be actually engaged till I am twenty-one. I wish the time would go faster.” Dick Lewisham escorted her back to the hotel, and then lighting a cigarette returned once more to pace up and down the garden path they had just quitted. The night was sultry, every now and then he could see summer lightning playing about the peaks of the Savoy mountains on the other side of the lake. Still musing over his talk with Evereld he threw himself down on a sheltered garden seat which stood on a little lawn screened on all sides by bushes. From time to time he heard steps on the path just beyond, and caught curious scraps of conversation over which he smiled in a cynical fashion. Now it was a woman’s voice.