set so beautifully, too, just a suspicion of rise at the corners. And
their expression was mocking and compelling--and--But she let go the
branches and disappeared from view.

Paul stood still. He was thrilling all over. Should he bound in among
the trees and follow her? Should he call out and ask her to come back?
Should he--? But when he had decided and gained the spot where she
must have stood, he saw it was a junction of three paths, and he was
in perfect ignorance which one she had taken. He rushed down the
first of them, but it twisted and turned, and when he had gone far
enough to see ahead--there was no one in sight. So he retraced his
steps and tried the second. This, too, ended in disappointment. And
the third led to an opening where he could see the descending
_funiculaire_, and just as it sank out of view he caught sight of
a black dress, almost hidden by a standing man's figure, whom he
recognised as the elderly silver-haired servant.

Paul had learnt a number of swear-words at Eton and Oxford. And he let
the trees hear most of them then.

He could not get down himself until the train returned, and by that
time where would she be? To go by the paths would take an
eternity. This time circumstance had fairly done him.

Presently he sauntered back to the little hotel whose terrace commands
the lake far below, and eagerly watching the craft upon it, he thought
he caught sight of a black figure reclining in an electric launch
which sped over the blue water.

Then he began to reason with himself. Why should the sight of this