The Silent Barrier
shall invite Mr. Bower to join us, and two other people--some man and
woman I can depend on to keep things going. If we laugh and kick up no
end of a noise, it will not only worry the remainder of the crowd, but
you score heavily off the theatrical lady. See?"
"I can see that you are acting the part of the good Samaritan," cried
Helen.
"Oh, dear, no--nothing so antiquated. Look at your future
position--the avowed wife of a millionaire. Eh, what? as Georgie
says."
"But I am not anything of the kind. Mr. Bower----"
"Mr. Bower is all right. He has the recognized history of the man who
makes a good husband, and you can't help liking him, unless--unless
there is another man."
"There, at least, I am----" Helen hesitated. Something gripped her
heart and checked the modest protestation of her freedom.
Mrs. de la Vere laughed. "If you are not sure, you are safe," she
said, with a hard ring in her utterance that belied her easygoing
philosophy. "Really, you bring me back a lost decade. Now, Helen--may
I call you Helen?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Well, then, don't forget that my name is Edith. You have just half an
hour to dress. I need every second of the time; so off you run to your
room. As I hear Reggie flinging his boots around next door, I shall
hurry him and arrange about the table. Call for me. We must go to the
foyer together. Now kiss me, there's a dear."
Helen was wrestling with her refractory tresses--for the coiffure that
suits glaciers and Tam o'Shanters is not permissible in evening
dress--when a servant brought her a note.
"DEAR MISS WYNTON," it ran,--"If you are able to come down
to dinner, why not dine with me? Sincerely,
"CHARLES K. SPENCER."
She blushed and laughed a little. "I am in demand," she thought,
flashing a pardonable glance at her own face in the mirror. She read
the brief invitation again. Spencer had a trick of printing the K
in his signature. It caught her fancy. It suggested strength,
trustworthiness. She did not know then that one of the shrewdest
scoundrels in the Western States had already commented on certain
qualities betokened by that letter in Spencer's name.
"I cannot refuse," she murmured. "To be candid, I don't want to
refuse. What shall I do?"
Bidding the servant wait, she twisted her hair into a coil, threw a
wrap round her shoulders, and tapped on Mrs. de la Vere's door.
"_Entrez!_" cried that lady.
"I am in a bit of difficulty," said Helen. "Mr. Spencer wishes me to
dine with him. Would you----"
"Certainly. I'll ask him to join us. Reggie will see him too. Really,
Helen, this is amusing. I am beginning to suspect you."
So Spencer received a surprising answer. He read it without any sign
of the amusement Mrs. de la Vere extracted from the situation, for
Helen took care to recite the whole arrangement.
"I'm going through with this," he growled savagely, "even if I have to
drink Bower's health--damn him!"
CHAPTER XII
THE ALLIES
Seldom, if ever, has a more strangely assorted party met at dinner
than that which gathered in the Hotel Kursaal under the social wing of
Mrs. de la Vere. Her husband, while being coached in essentials, was
the first to discover its incongruities.
"Where Miss Wynton is concerned, you are warned off," his wife told
him dryly. "You must console yourself with Mrs. Badminton-Smythe. She
will stand anything to cut out a younger and prettier woman."
"Where do you come in, Edie?" said he; for Mrs. de la Vere's delicate
aristocratic beauty seemed to be the natural complement of her
sporting style, and to-night there was a wistful charm in her face
that the lively Reginald had not seen there before.
She turned aside, busying herself with her toilet. "I don't come in.
I went out five years ago," she cried, with a mocking laugh.
"Do you know," he muttered, "I often wonder why the deuce you an' I
got married."
"Because, sweet Reginald, we were made for each other by a wise
Providence. What other woman of your acquaintance would tolerate
you--as a husband?"
"Oh, dash it all! if it comes to that----"
"For goodness' sake, don't fuss, or begin to think. Run away and
interview the head waiter. Then you are to buttonhole Bower and the
American. I am just sending a chit to the Badminton-Smythes."
"Who is my partner?"
"Lulu, of course."
De la Vere was puzzled, and looked it. "I suppose it is all right," he
growled. "Still, I can't help thinking you've got something up your
sleeve, Edie."
She stamped a very pretty foot angrily. "Do as I tell you! Didn't
you hear what Bower said? He will be everlastingly obliged to us for
coming to the rescue in this fashion. Next time you have a flutter in
the city, his friendship may be useful."
"By gad!" cried Reginald, beginning, as he fancied, to see light,
"something seems to have bitten you this evening. Tell you what--Lulu
is a non-runner. Get Bower to put you on to a soft thing in Africans,
an' you an' I will have a second honeymoon in Madeira next winter.
Honor bright! I mean it."
She seized a silver mounted brush from the dressing table with the
obvious intent of speeding his departure. He dodged out, and strolled
down the corridor.
"Never saw Edie in that sort of tantrum before," he said to himself.
"If she only knew how sick I was of all this jolly rot, p'r'aps we'd
run better in double harness."
So it came to pass, when the company assembled in the great dining
room, that Bower sat on Mrs. de la Vere's left, and Spencer on her
right. Beyond them, respectively, were Lulu Badminton-Smythe and her
husband, and between these latter were de la Vere and Helen. Thus, the
girl was separated from the two men whom her shrewd eyed hostess had
classed as rivals, while the round table made possible a general
conversation.
The talk could hardly fail to turn on the day's adventures. Spencer,
who had never before in his life thrust himself forward in a social
gathering, did so now with fixed purpose. He meant to eclipse Bower in
a territory where that polished man of the world was accustomed to
reign unchallenged. But he had the wisdom to wait. He guessed, not
without good cause, that more than one late arrival would pause beside
their table and make polite inquiries as to the climbers' well being.
These interruptions were fatal to Bower's well balanced periods. The
journey to the hut, therefore, was dealt with jerkily.
When Spencer took up the thread, he caught and held the attention of
his hearers. In this he was helped considerably by his quaint idioms.
To English ears, American expressions are always amusing. Spencer, of
course, could speak quite as correct English as anyone present; but
he realized that in this instance a certain amount of picturesque
exaggeration would lend itself to humor. His quick ear too had missed
none of the queer mixture of prayers and objurgations with which Karl
and the two guides hailed every incident. His selections set them all
in a roar. In fact, they were the liveliest party in the room. Many an
eye was drawn by a merriment that offered such striking contrast to
the dramatic episode in the outer hall.
"The one person missing from that crowd is the stage lady," was Miss
Gladys Wragg's caustic comment, when Badminton-Smythe evoked a fresh
outburst by protesting that he forgot to eat his fish owing to
Spencer's beastly funny yarn.
And Miss Wragg's criticism was justified. It only needed Millicent's
presence to add a wizard's touch to the amazement with which Mrs.
Vavasour and others of her kind regarded the defection of the de la
Veres and the Badminton-Smythes. But Millicent was dining in her own
room. The last thing she dreamed of was that Helen would face the
other residents in the hotel after the ordeal she had gone through an
hour earlier. She half expected that Bower would endeavor to meet her
privately while dinner was being served. She was ready for him. She
prepared a number of sarcastic little speeches, each with a subtle
venom of its own, and even rehearsed a pose or two with a view toward
scenic effect. But she had neither taken Bower's measure nor counted
on Mrs. de la Vere's superior strategy. All that happened was that she
ate a lukewarm meal, and was left to wonder at her one-time admirer's
boldness in accepting a situation that many a daring man would have
striven to evade.
After dinner it was the custom of the habitues to break up into small
groups and arrange the night's amusement. Dancing claimed the younger
element, while card games had their devotees. Mrs. de la Vere danced
invariably; but to-night she devoted herself to Helen. She was under
no illusions. Bower and Spencer were engaged in a quiet duel, and the
victor meant to monopolize the girl for the remainder of the evening.
That was preventable. They could fight their battle on some other
occasion. At present there was one thing of vital importance,--the
unpleasant impression created by the actress's bitter attack must be
dissipated, and Mrs. de la Vere, secretly marveling at her own
enthusiasm, aimed at the achievement.
"Don't be drawn away from me on any pretext," she whispered, linking
her arm through Helen's as they passed out into the foyer. "And be
gracious to everybody, even to those who have been most cattish."
Helen was far too excited and grateful to harbor animosity. Moreover,
she dreaded the chance of being left alone with Bower. As he had
already declared his intentions publicly, she was sure he would seize
the first opportunity to ask her to marry him. And what would be her
answer? She hardly knew. She must have time to think. She must search
her own heart. She almost flinched from the succeeding thought,--was
it that her soul had found another mate? If that was so, she must
refuse Bower, though the man she was learning to love might pass out
of her life and leave her desolate.
She liked Bower, even respected him. Never for an instant had the
notion intruded that he had followed her to Switzerland with an
unworthy motive. To her mind, nothing could be more straightforward
than their acquaintance. The more she reflected on Millicent Jaques's
extraordinary conduct, the more she was astounded by its utter
baselessness. And Bower was admirable in many ways. He stood high in
the opinion of the world. He was rich, cultured, and seemingly very
deeply enamored of her undeserving self. What better husband could any
girl desire? He would give her everything that made life worth living.
Indeed, if the truth must be told, she was phenomenally lucky.
Thus did she strive to silence misgivings, to quell doubt, to order
and regulate a blurred medley of subconscious thought. While laughing,
and talking, and making the most successful efforts to be at ease
with the dozens of people who came and spoke to Mrs. de la Vere and
herself, she felt like some frail vessel dancing blithely in a swift,
smooth current, yet hastening ever to the verge of a cataract.
Once Bower approached, skillfully piloting Mrs. Badminton-Smythe; for
Reginald, tiring of the role thrust on him by his wife, had gone to
play bridge. It was his clear intent to take Helen from her chaperon.
"It is still snowing, though not so heavily," he said. "Come on the
veranda, and look at the landscape. The lake is a pool of ink in the
middle of a white table cloth."
"The snow will be far more visible in the morning, and we have a lot
of ice to melt here," interposed Mrs. de la Vere quickly.
The man and woman, both well versed in the ways of society, looked
each other squarely in the eye. Though disappointed, the man
understood, was even appreciative.
"Miss Wynton is fortunate in her friends," he said, and straightway
went to the writing room. He felt that Helen was safe with this