Three Weeks | Page 8

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
woman have caused him such violent emotion? Why? Women were
jolly things that did not matter much--except Isabella. She mattered, of
course, but somehow her mental picture came less readily to his mind
than usual. The things he seemed to see most distinctly were her
hands--her big red hands. And then he unconsciously drifted from all
thought of her.
"She certainly looks younger in daylight," he said to himself. "Not
more than thirty perhaps. And what strange hats with that shadow over
her eyes. What is she doing here all alone? She must be somebody from
the people in the hotel making such a fuss--and that servant--Then why
alone?" He mused and mused.
She was not a demi-mondaine. The English ones he knew were very
ordinary people, but he had heard of some of the French ladies as being
quite grande dame, and travelling en prince. Yet he was convinced this
was not one of them. Who could she be? He must know.
To go back to the hotel would be the shortest way to find out, and so by
the next descending train he left the Bürgenstock.

He walked up and down under the lime-trees outside the terrace of her
rooms for half an hour, but was not rewarded in any way for his pains.
And at last he went in. He, too, would have a dinner worth eating, he
thought. So he consulted the maître d'hôtel on his way up to dress, and
together they evolved a banquet. Paul longed to question the man about
the unknown, but as yet he was no actor, and he found he felt too much
about it to do it naturally.
He dressed with the greatest care, and descended at exactly half-past
eight. Yes, the table was laid for her evidently--but there were giant
carnations, not roses, in the silver vase to-night. How quickly the
waiters seemed to bring things! And what a frightful lot there was to
eat! And dawdle as he would, by nine o'clock he had almost finished.
Perhaps it would be as well to send for a newspaper again. Anything to
delay his having to rise and go out. An anxious, uncomfortable
gnawing sense of expectancy dominated him. How ridiculous for a
woman to be so late! What cook could do justice to his dishes if they
were thus to be kept waiting? She couldn't possibly have ordered it for
half past nine, surely! Gradually, as that hour passed and his second
cup of coffee had been sipped to its finish, Paul felt a sickening sense
of anger and disappointment. He got up abruptly and went out. In the
hall, coming from the corridor of her rooms, he met the lady face to
face.
Then rage with himself seized him. Why had he not waited? For no
possible reason could he go back now. And what a chance to look at
her missed--and all thrown away.
He sat sullenly down in the hall, resisting the temptation to go into the
beautiful night. At least he would see her on her way back. But he
waited until nearly eleven, and she never appeared, and then the
maddening thought came to him--she had probably passed to her rooms
along the terrace outside, under the lime-tree.
He bounded up, and stalked into the starlight. He could see through the
windows of the restaurant, and no one was there. Then he sat on the
bench again, under the ivy--but all was darkness and silence; and
thoroughly depressed, Paul at last went to bed.

Next day was so gloriously fine that youth and health sang within him.
He was up and away quite early. Not a thought of this strange lady
should cross his mind for the entire day, he determined as he ate his
breakfast. And soon he started for the Rigi in a launch, taking the
English papers with him. Intense joy, too! A letter from Isabella!
Such a nice letter. All about Pike and Moonlighter, and the other
horses--and Isabella was going to stay with a friend at Blackheath,
where she hoped to get better golf than at home--and Lady Henrietta
had been gracious to her, and given her Paul's address, and there had
been a "jolly big party" at Verdayne Place for Sunday, but none of his
"pals." At least if there were, they were not in church, she added
naïvely.
All this Paul read in his launch on the way to the Rigi, and for some
unexplained reason the information seemed about things a long way off,
and less thrilling than usual. He had a splendid climb, and when he got
back to