The Silent Barrier Part 12

She was under no misconception as to what had happened. The women were making a dead set against her. If she had been plain or dowdy, they might have been friendly enough. It was an unpardonable offense that she should be good looking, unchaperoned, and not one of the queerly a.s.sorted mixture they deemed their _monde_. For a few minutes she was really angry. She realized that her only crime was poverty. Given a little share of the wealth held by many of these pa.s.see matrons and bold-eyed girls, she would be a reigning star among them, and could act and talk as she liked. Yet her shyness and reserve would have been her best credentials to any society that was const.i.tuted on a sounder basis than a gathering of sn.o.bs. Among really well-born people she would certainly have been received on an equal footing until some valid reason for ostracism was forthcoming. The imported limpets on this Swiss rock of gentility were not sure of their own grip. Hence, they strenuously refused to make room for a newcomer until they were shoved aside.

Poor, disillusioned Helen! When she went to church she prayed to the good Lord to deliver her and everybody else from envy, hatred, and malice, and all uncharitableness. She felt now that there might well be added to the Litany a fresh pet.i.tion which should include British communities on the Continent in the list of avoidable evils.

At that instant the piquant face and figure of Millicent Jaques rose before her mind's eye. She pictured to herself the cool effrontery with which the actress would crush these waspish women by creating a court of every eligible man in the place. It was not a healthy thought, but it was the offspring of sheer vexation, and Helen experienced her second temptation that day when de la Vere, the irresistible "Reginald" of Mrs. Vavasour's sketchy reminiscences, came and asked her to dance.

She recognized him at once. He sat with Mrs. de la Vere at table, and never spoke to her unless it was strictly necessary. He had distinguished manners, a pleasant voice, and a charming smile, and he seemed to be the devoted slave of every pretty woman in the hotel except his wife.

"Please pardon the informality," he said, with an affability that cloaked the impertinence. "We are quite a family party at Maloja. I hear you are staying here some weeks, and we are bound to get to know each other sooner or later."

Helen could dance well. She was so mortified by the injustice meted out to her that she almost accepted de la Vere's partners.h.i.+p on the spur of the moment. But her soul rebelled against the man's covert insolence, and she said quietly:

"No, thank you. I do not care to dance."

"May I sit here and talk?" he persisted.

"I am just going," she said, "and I think Mrs. de la Vere is looking for you."

By happy chance the woman in question was standing alone in the center of the ball room, obviously in quest of some man who would take her to the foyer for a cigarette. Helen retreated with the honors of war; but the irresistible one only laughed.

"That idiot Georgie told the truth, then," he admitted. "And she knows what the other women are saying. What cats these dear creatures can be, to be sure!"

Spencer happened to be an interested onlooker. Indeed, he was trying to arrive at the best means of obtaining an introduction to Helen when he saw de la Vere stroll leisurely up to her with the a.s.sured air of one sated by conquest. The girl brushed close to him as he stood in the pa.s.sage. She held her head high and her eyes were sparkling. He had not heard what was said; but de la Vere's discomfiture was so patent that even his wife smiled as she sailed out on the arm of a youthful purveyor of cigarettes.

Spencer longed for an opportunity to kick de la Vere; yet, in some sense, he shared that redoubtable lady-killer's rebuff. He too was wondering if the social life of a Swiss hotel would permit him to seek a dance with Helen. Under existing conditions, it would provide quite a humorous episode, he told himself, to strike up a friends.h.i.+p with her. He could not imagine why she had adopted such an aloof att.i.tude toward all and sundry; but it was quite evident that she declined anything in the guise of promiscuous acquaintance. And he, like her, felt lonely. There were several Americans in the hotel, and he would probably meet some of the men in the bar or smoking room after the dance was ended. But he would have preferred a pleasant chat with Helen that evening, and now she had gone to her room in a huff.

Then an inspiration came to him. "Guess I'll stir up Mackenzie to send along an introduction," he said. "A telegram will fix things."

It was not quite so easy to explain matters in the curt language of the wire, he found, and it savored of absurdity to amaze the beer-drinking Scot with a long message. So he compromised between desire and expediency by a letter.

"DEAR MR. MACKENZIE," he wrote, "life is not rapid at this terminus. It might take on some new features if I had the privilege of saying 'How de do' to Miss Wynton. Will you oblige me by telling her that one of your best and newest friends happens to be in the same hotel as her charming self, and that if she gets him to sparkle, he (which is I) will help considerable with copy for 'The Firefly.' Advise me by same post, and the rest of the situation is up to yours faithfully,

"C. K. S."

The letter was posted, and Spencer waited five tiresome days. He saw little or nothing of Helen save at meals. Once he met her on a footpath that runs through a wood by the side of the lake to the little hamlet of Isola, and he was minded to raise his hat, as he would have done to any other woman in the hotel whom he encountered under similar circ.u.mstances; but she deliberately looked away, and his intended courtesy must have pa.s.sed unheeded.

As he sedulously avoided any semblance of d.o.g.g.i.ng her footsteps, he could not know how she was being persecuted by de la Vere, Vavasour, and one or two other men of like habit. That knowledge was yet to come. Consequently he deemed her altogether too prudish, and was so out of patience with her that he and Stampa went off for a two days'

climb by way of the Muretto Pa.s.s to Chiareggio and back to Sils-Maria over the Fex glacier.

Footsore and tired, but thoroughly converted to the marvels of the high Alps, he reached the Kursaal side by side with the postman who brought the chief English mail about six o'clock each evening.

He waited with an eager crowd of residents while the hall porter sorted the letters. There were some for him from America, and one from London in a handwriting that was strange to him. But he had quick eyes, and he saw that a letter addressed to Miss Helen Wynton, in the flamboyant envelope of "The Firefly," bore the same script.

Mackenzie had risen to the occasion. He even indulged in a cla.s.sical joke. "There is something in the name of Helen that attracts," he said. "Were it not for the lady whose face drew a thousand s.h.i.+ps to Ilium, we should never have heard of Paris, or Troy, or the heel of Achilles, and all these would be greatly missed."

"And I should never have heard of Mackenzie or Maloja," thought Spencer, sinking into a chair and looking about to learn whether or not the girl would find her letter before he went to dress for dinner.

He was sure she knew his name. Perhaps when she read the editor's note, she too would search the s.p.a.cious lounge with those fine eyes of hers for the man described therein. If that were so, he meant to go to her instantly, discuss the strangeness of the coincidence that led to two of Mackenzie's friends being at the hotel at the same time, and suggest that they should dine together.

The project seemed feasible, and it was decidedly pleasant in perspective. He longed to compare notes with her,--to tell her the quaint stories of the hills related to him by Stampa in a medley of English, French, Italian, and German; perhaps to plan delightful trips to the fairyland in company.

People began to clear away from the hall porter's table; yet Helen remained invisible. He could hardly have missed her; but to make certain he rose and glanced at the few remaining letters. Yes, "The Firefly's" gaudy imprint still gleamed at him. He turned way, disappointed. After his long tramp and a night in a weird Italian inn, a bath was imperative, and the boom of the dressing gong was imminent.

He was crossing the hall toward the elevator when he heard her voice.

"I am so glad you are keen on an early climb," she was saying, with a new note of confidence that stirred him strangely. "I have been longing to leave the sign boards and footpaths far behind, but I felt rather afraid of going to the Forno for the first time with a guide.

You see, I know nothing about mountaineering, and you can put me up to all the dodges beforehand."

"Show you the ropes, in fact," agreed the man with her, Mark Bower.

Spencer was so completely taken by surprise that he could only stare at the two as though they were ghosts. They had entered the hotel together, and had apparently been out for a walk. Helen picked up her letter and held it carelessly in her hand while she continued to talk with Bower. Her pleasurable excitement was undeniable. She regarded her companion as a friend, and was evidently overjoyed at his presence. Spencer banged into the elevator, astonished the attendant and two other occupants by the savagery of his command, "Au deuxieme, vite!" and paced through a long corridor with noisy clatter of hob-nailed boots.

He was in a rare fret and fume when he sat down to dinner alone. Bower was at Helen's table. It was brightened by rare flowers not often seen in sterile Maloja. A bottle of champagne rested in an ice bucket by his side. He had brought with him the atmosphere of London, of the pleasant life that London offers to those who can buy her favors.

Truly this Helen, all unconsciously, had not only found the heel of a modern Achilles, but was wounding him sorely. For now Spencer knew that he wanted to see her frank eyes smiling into his as they were smiling into Bower's, and, no matter what turn events took, a sinister element had been thrust into a harmless idyl by this man's arrival.

CHAPTER VII

SOME SKIRMIs.h.i.+NG

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 a.s.sure 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."

"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 a.s.set 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 s.p.a.cious 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.