CHAPTER VII
SOME SKIRMISHING
Later, the American saw the two sitting in the hall. They were chatting with the freedom of old friends. Helen’s animated face showed that the subject of their talk was deeply interesting. She was telling Bower of the slights inflicted on her by the other women; but Spencer interpreted her intent manner as supplying sufficient proof of a stronger emotion than mere friendliness. He was beginning to detest Bower.
It was his habit to decide quickly when two ways opened before him. He soon settled his course now. To remain in the hotel under present conditions involved a loss of self respect, he thought. He went to the bureau, asked for his account, and ordered a carriage to St. Moritz for the morrow’s fast train to England.
The manager was politely regretful. “You are leaving us at the wrong time, sir,” he said. “Within the next few days we ought to have a midsummer storm, when even the lower hills will be covered with snow. Then, we usually enjoy a long spell of magnificent weather.”
“Sorry,” said Spencer. “I like the scramble up there,” and he nodded in the direction of the Bernina range, “and old Stampa is a gem of a guide; but I can hardly put off any longer some business that needs attention in England. Anyhow, I shall come back, perhaps next month. Stampa says it is all right here in September.”
“Our best month, I assure you, and the ideal time to drop down into Italy when you are tired of the mountains.”
“I must let it go at that. I intend to fix Stampa so that he can remain here till the end of the season. So you see I mean to return.”
“He was very fortunate in meeting you, Mr. Spencer,” said the manager warmly.
“Well, it is time he had a slice of luck. I’ve taken a fancy to the old fellow. One night, in the Forno hut, he told me something of his story. I guess it will please him to stop at the Maloja for awhile.”