"Is it to be jour maigre with you?"
"I take a few sandwiches. That's enough for me."
[CHAPTER XVI]
The Cry from the Châlet
DORIS walked down the village street, more than half lost in a dream. She had forgotten all about Mrs. Brutt and the visit to her room. The last hour had swept such recollections out of her head. And, as if she had not already enough to fill her thoughts, when she left the breakfast-table the post came in, bringing a letter from Hamilton Stirling.
This was a typical Swiss mountain village, some three thousand five hundred feet above the sea-level, straggling along the side of a deep valley. Picturesque châlets were intermingled with houses of a more prosaic stamp; and there were little primitive shops, as well as hotels. Visitors abounded, chiefly Swiss and French, together with an admixture of Germans and Russians, and a few English.
The letter from Hamilton felt uncomfortable in her hand, as she walked; and she was in no haste to open it. She wondered whether she ought to have been glad to see his writing; and she came to the conclusion that she was not—very—glad.
Going more slowly, she tore the envelope, pulled out the sheet, and at a glance saw—
"I need not apologise for writing again so soon. You will have missed, as I have, our close intercourse; and you will be expecting another letter."
But she had not missed him, she told herself indignantly; not in the very least; and their intercourse had not been "close;" and she had not expected another letter. She had not thought about him at all. What business had he to feel so sure that she wanted him? She didn't want him. It was quite a relief to escape his lectures on geology.