“He told you about his daughter?” came the tentative question.
“Not all. I am afraid there was no difficulty in filling in the blanks. I heard enough to make me respect him and sympathize with his troubles.”
The manager shook his head, with the air of one who recalls that which he would willingly have forgotten. “Such incidents are rare in Switzerland,” he said. “I well remember the sensation her death created. She was such a pretty girl. The young men at Pontresina called her ‘The Edelweiss’ because she was so inaccessible. In fact, poor Stampa had educated her beyond her station, and that is not always good for a woman, especially in these quiet valleys, where knowledge of cattle and garden produce is a better asset than speaking French and playing the piano.”
Spencer agreed. He could name other districts where the same rule held good. He stood for a moment in the spacious hall to light a cigar. Involuntarily he glanced at Helen. She met his gaze, and said something to Bower that caused the latter also to turn and look.
“She has read Mackenzie’s letter,” thought Spencer, taking refuge behind a cloud of smoke. “It will be bad behavior on my part to leave the hotel without making my bow. Shall I go to her now, or wait till morning?”
He reflected that Helen might be out early next day. If he presented his introduction at once, she would probably ask him to sit with her a little while, and then he must become acquainted with Bower. He disliked the notion; but he saw no way out of it, unless indeed Helen treated him with the chilling abruptness she meted out to other men in the hotel who tried to become friendly with her. He was weighing the pros and cons dispassionately, when the English chaplain approached.
“Do you play bridge, Mr. Spencer?” he asked.
“I know the leads, and call ‘without’ on the least provocation,” was the reply.
“You are the very man I am searching for, and I have the authority of the First Book of Samuel in my quest.”