"Just a vulgar row and nothing more. We should laugh at it in England, but they’ve other notions here. I don’t want you to be bothered about it, and so I’m all for the journey to Sierre and the Simplon to-night. Give me leave, and I’ll telephone for tickets right away. You’d be wise to do that, Lady Delayne—I’m sure you’d be wise—" "But, my dear Mr. Benson, I have friends coming from Caux this afternoon. I could not go away in such a hurry; it would be too ridiculous in the circumstances." Benny did not know what to say. His anxiety for her had become almost pitiful. Perhaps he would have betrayed himself altogether, but for the sudden appearance of the gendarme, Philip, who emerged from the wood upon their left hand, and sauntered down toward them with his eyes searching the ground and his hands crossed behind his back. This was a ghost to stem the flood of eloquence suddenly. Benny turned pale when he saw Philip, and his agitation was not to be hidden from his companion. "Who is that?" she asked him with awakened curiosity. He shook his head. "One of the gendarmes from Martigny. I saw him at the station last night." "Then why do you see him with displeasure this morning?" "He may be here on our affair. I’ve told you what I think. They’ll be questioning you about it if you stay." "But, surely, I shall be able to answer them! Is a woman responsible for her husband’s follies—even in Switzerland? I do not think so, Mr. Benson; you are not quite honest with me—there is something yet to come?" He shook his head. "I have told you what I think, Lady Delayne. It’s for you to decide. I can quite understand that you may not be able to go away this afternoon, but to-morrow, or the next day, perhaps? Will you think it over, and let me know? I shall be round this way after dinner to-night, and I’ll look in, with your-permission. Now I must run away, for I see the abbé throwing his arms about up yonder, and that’s to say the lunch is on the table. Isn’t it wonderful that a man cannot go three or four hours without food and remain in his right senses? It’s true, though, so, you see, I’ll just run away. But you’ll think of what I’ve said, won’t you?—and you’ll know that I’m your friend, come what may!" He held put his hand to her with an awkward gesture, and felt her soft fingers lying for an instant in his own. The look which she gave him was a reward beyond his expectations; he returned to the chalet with the step of a boy, and was hoping and believing a hundred good things when he met the gendarme, Philip, almost at his own door. "Ah, my lad, I am glad to see you again," he said. "Were you not at Sierre last night with the valet of my friend, Mr. Faikes?" Philip looked up quickly. "Of your friend, Sir—?" Benny did not appear to notice it. "The Englishman staying at Vermala," he persisted; and then he asked: "Do you know him also?" Philip answered as quickly.