The "little widow" had slept well after her long journey, and she awoke to the delights of this unfamiliar scene just when the clocks were striking nine. Lying a little while to speculate upon the events of the long journey from Egypt and to wonder if any in the hotel would know her, presently her ears became aware of an unusual clatter below her window. When she looked out she discovered a party on skis about to set out for a paper chase, and announcing the fact with the boisterous spirit of the mountains. There they were, fathers of families and their sons; generals who had cast off the shackles of Whitehall; colonels from India; merchants waxed fat; boys from the universities—all dressed in the once-white sweaters, the short knee-breeches and the regulation boots. Troops of girls and of ladies of uncertain age accompanied them—gliding, sliding, staggering upon the ungainly runners; and thus, in splendid disorder, the motley march began. When they were gone, the two young gentlemen who had come up with the party from Sierre yesterday appeared upon the plateau with Miss Bessie Bethune, and having bestowed upon her the gift of a few buckets of snow applied chiefly to the nape of her neck, began to ask ironically when the "show" would begin. "Rivers said nine o’clock. I put my three-and-six-penny watch down the back of the customs’ man at Pontarlier, so I don’t know, but I’ll bet it’s nearly ten. Beastly shame to keep the cracks waiting. Snagg ought to ask a question in Parliament about it." To which Dick Fenton replied that Rivers was certainly "a nut" and that they had better go up and crack him—which suggestion, adopted _nem. con._, left Miss Bessie to herself for an instant and then to a duologue with the "little widow," whom she espied at the window. "Aren’t you coming down to see the races, Mrs. Kennaird?" "Oh, I hope so; what time do they begin?" "That’s what I want to know. If they don’t come down soon, I shall race by myself, and then they’ll have to give me a prize. Do come and help me. I’m in a dreadful minority." "Then I must certainly come to your assistance. Is Mr. Clavering down yet?" "I haven’t seen him; but, of course, we don’t want the Church until Sunday. There’s no one on the run at all but Benny, and he doesn’t count. Have you seen Benny? Then it’s a thing to dream about. He lives all by himself in the chalet up there—such a wonderful man, and always going about as though he were looking for his own soul. You’ll see him in a minute, for he’s just gone up—but I don’t suppose he’ll come down on the luge—I really can’t believe that Benny would be faithful to anything for more than five minutes. And, oh! here’s Mr. Kavanagh—I would like to introduce you, for he is such a dear!"