Stampa was buried in the grave that held his daughter’s remains. Spencer purchased the space for a suitable monument, and the inscription does not fail to record the fact that one of the men who first conquered the Matterhorn had paid tribute to the mountains by meeting his death on Corvatsch.
The American went many times to visit Bower at the Roseg inn. He found his erstwhile rival resigned to the vagaries of fortune. The doctors summoned from St. Moritz deemed his case so serious that they brought a specialist from Paris, and the great surgeon announced that the millionaire’s leg would be saved; but there must remain a permanent stiffness.
“I know what that means,” said Bower, with a wry smile. “It is a legacy from Stampa. That is really rather funny, considering that the joke is against myself. By the way, did I tell you I gave Millicent Jaques a check for five thousand pounds to stop her tongue?”
“I guessed the check, but couldn’t guess the amount.”
“She wrote last week, threatening all sorts of terrible things because I withheld payment. You will remember that when you and I placed on record our mutual opinion of each other, we agreed at any rate that it was a mean thing on her part to give away our poor Helen to the harpies in the hotel. So I telegraphed at once to my bankers, and Miss Millicent didn’t make good, as you would put it. Now she promises to ‘expose’ me. Humorous, isn’t it?”
“I think you ought to marry her,” said Spencer, with that immobile look of his.
“Perhaps I may, one of these days. But first she must learn to behave herself. A nice girl, Millicent. She would look decorative, sitting beside an invalid in a carriage. Yes, I’ll think of it. Meanwhile, I shall chaff her about the five thousand and see how she takes it.”
Millicent behaved. Helen saw that she did.