She merely rejoined, "Indeed?" A problem involving tremendous issues had presented itself suddenly to her mind, and she had not the remotest idea how to deal with it. But she felt that her previous answer had been a mistake and one that was almost irreparable. Why had she made it? She did not quite know. Benny, on his part, was a little puzzled by her silence. He thought that he had pursued a subject which could be of no interest to her; and he would not have mentioned it again but for the question she put to him just before the Palace Hotel came into sight. "Have you heard of Sir Luton Delayne since that date?" she asked. He replied as one greedy for the opportunity to tell her. "Why, everyone in Switzerland has heard of him. He’s been staying at Grindelwald, painting the place red. There was a regular row there the other night. Some fellow in the Fusiliers accused him of cheating at bridge, and Sir Luton knocked him down in the hall. They say he wouldn’t fight it out, and bolted next morning. Now the police are after him, and there’ll be a pretty to do if he’s caught. I wonder you didn’t hear of it?" She tried to smile, but the effort was vain. "I have been on a steamer, from Egypt, you know. Women do not read the papers as men do. I don’t think they understand the meaning of the word ’news,’ unless it concerns their own circle. When I arrived at Brindisi I was naturally anxious to get on here. I see that I am very much out of date." "Of course you are. The hotel talked about nothing else yesterday. There was a rumour that the man intended coming on here. I guess there would have been some moving if he had. But the people won’t have him. The little French secretary Ardlot, who runs the Palace, told me this morning they would have no vacant room if Sir Luton Delayne presented himself." "Then he has left Grindelwald finally?" "I should think he has, and wisely too. Barton of the Fusiliers would have shot him if he had stayed. Luton Delayne’s the kind of man who doesn’t like playing tame pheasant. He gets out of the wood before the beaters are in. I shouldn’t wonder if he is a hundred miles the other side of Pontarlier this morning." "Wisdom in this case being the better part of valour—but is not this the hotel? I hope it is, for I am deadly tired, and thank you so much for your great kindness." Benny said that the evening had been the best he had ever spent at Andana—and he meant it. "I’m not staying at the Palace, you know," he ran on; "my brother and I took the chalet up by the Park. I come in to lunch and dinner, that’s all. I’m not a sociable person, Mrs. Kennaird. Sometimes I think the best thing in life is being alone. But, of course, I didn’t think that to-night. Will you let me bring you down from Vermala again? I hope so. It’s been a happy opportunity for me, I assure you."