Challoner saw it shining at the bottom of the shallow trench of ice. It was a gold locket on a thin chain. It was still quite bright, for it had been worn round the neck and under the clothes. Challoner stooped and picked it up and opened it. A face stared boldly out at him, the face of a girl, pretty and quite vulgar, and quite strange to him. A forgotten saying took shape slowly in his memory. What was it that the woman who had managed the hotel at the Riffelalp had said to him of Frobisher?
"I did not like him. I should not trust him."
He looked up to see Stella Frobisher watching him with a white face and brooding eyes.
"What is that?" she asked.
Challoner shut the locket.
"A portrait of you," he said, hastily.
"He had no locket with a portrait of me," said Stella Frobisher.
Over the shoulder of a hill the sun leapt into the sky and flooded the world with gold.