"O Philip, there is nothing to charge!" said Lois, lifting her flushedface, "fair as the moon," to meet his anxious eyes. "Do not think of itagain. It is perfectly natural, from her point of view. You know, youare very much Somebody; and I – am Nobody."

The remainder of the interview may be left unreported.

It lasted till the two ladies returned from the matinée. Mrs. Wishartimmediately retained Mr. Dillwyn for luncheon, and the two girls wentup-stairs together.

"How long has that man been here?" was Madge's disrespectful inquiry.

"I don't know."

"What did he come for?"

"I suppose – to see me."

"To see you! Did he come to take you sleigh-riding again?"

"He said nothing about sleigh-riding."

"The snow is all slush down in the city. What did he want to see youfor, then?" said Madge, turning round upon her sister, while at thesame time she was endeavouring to extricate her head from her bonnet, which was caught upon a pin.

"He had something to say to me," Lois answered, trembling with an oddsort of excitement.

"What? – Lois, not that?" cried Madge, stopping with her bonnet onlyhalf off her head. But Lois nodded; and Madge dropped herself into thenearest chair, making no further effort as regarded the bonnet.

"Lois! – What did you say to him?"

"What could I say to him?"

"Why, two or three things, I should think. If it was I, I shouldthink so."

"There can be but one answer to such a question. It must be yes or no."

"I am sure that's two to choose from. Have you gone and said yes tothat man?"

"Don't you like him?" said Lois, with a furtive smile, glancing up ather sister now from under lowered eyelids.

"Like him! I never saw the man yet, that I liked as well as my liberty."

"Liberty!"

"Yes. Have you forgotten already what that means? O Lois! have you saidyes to that man? Why, I am always afraid of him, every time I see him."

"Afraid of him?"

"Yes. I get over it after he has been in the room a while; but the nexttime I see him it comes back. O Lois! are you going to let him haveyou?"

"Madge, you are talking most dreadful nonsense. You never were afraidof anybody in your life; and of him least of all."

"Fact, though," said Madge, beginning at her bonnet again. "It's theway his head is set on his shoulders, I suppose. If I had known whatwas happening, while I was listening to Mme. Cisco's screeching!" —

"You couldn't have helped it."

"And now, now, actually you belong to somebody else! Lois, when are yougoing to be married?"

"I don't know."

"Not for a great while? Not soon, at any rate?"

"I don't know. Mr. Dillwyn wishes – "

"And are you going to do everything he wishes?"

"As far as I can," said Lois, with again a rosy smile and glance.

"There's the call to luncheon!" said Madge. "People must eat, ifthey're ever so happy or ever so unhappy. It is one of the disgustingthings about human nature. I just wish he wasn't going to be here.Well – come along!"

Madge went ahead till she reached the drawing-room door; there shesuddenly paused, waved herself to one side, and let Lois go in beforeher. Lois was promptly wrapped in Mrs. Wishart's arms, and had toendure a most warm and heartfelt embracing and congratulating. The ladywas delighted. Meanwhile Madge found herself shaking hands with Philip.

"You know all about it?" he said, looking hard at her, and holding herhand fast.

"If you mean what Lois has told me – "

"Are not you going to wish me joy?"

"There is no occasion – for anybody who has got Lois," said Madge. Andthen she choked, pulled her hand away, and broke down. And when Loisgot free from Mrs. Wishart, she saw Madge sitting with her head in herhands, and Mr. Dillwyn bending over her. Lois came swiftly behind andput both arms softly around her sister.

"It's no use!" said Madge, sobbing and yet defiant. "He has got you, and I haven't got you any longer. Let me alone – I am not going to be afool, but to be asked to wish him joy is too much." And she broke awayand ran off.

Lois could have followed her with all her heart; but she had herselfhabitually under better control than Madge, and knew with fine instinctwhat was due to others. Her eyes glistened; nevertheless her bearingwas quiet and undisturbed; and a second time to-day Mr. Dillwyn wascharmed with the grace of her manner. I must add that Madge presentlymade her appearance again, and was soon as gay as usual; herlucubrations even going so far before the end of luncheon as to wonderwhere Lois would hold her wedding. Will she fetch all the folks downhere? thought Madge. Or will everybody go to Shampuashuh?

With the decision, however, the reader need not be troubled.

CHAPTER XLIX
ON THE PASS

Only one incident more need be told. It is the last point in my story.

The intermediate days and months must be passed over, and we skip theinterval to the summer and June. It is now the middle of June. Mr.Dillwyn's programme had been successfully carried out; and, after aneasy and most festive journey from England, through France, he and Loishad come by gentle stages to Switzerland. A festive journey, yes; butthe expression regards the mental progress rather than the apparent.Mr. Dillwyn, being an old traveller, took things with the calm habit ofuse and wont; and Lois, new as all was to her, made no more fussydemonstration than he did. All the more delicious to him, andsatisfactory, were the sparkles in her eyes and the flushes on hercheeks, which constantly witnessed to her pure delight or interest insomething. All the more happily he felt the grasp of her hand sometimeswhen she did not speak; or listened to the low accents of rapture whenshe saw something that deserved them; or to her merry soft laugh atsomething that touched her sense of fun. For he found Lois had a greatsense of fun. She was altogether of the most buoyant, happy, andenjoying nature possible. No one could be a better traveller. Sheignored discomforts (truly there had not been much in that line), andshe laughed at disappointments; and travellers must meetdisappointments now and then. So Mr. Dillwyn had found the journeygiving him all he had promised himself; and to Lois it gave – wellLois's dreams had never promised her the quarter.

So it had come to be the middle of June, and they were in Switzerland.And this day, the sixteenth, found them in a little wayside inn nearthe top of a pass, snowed up. So far they had come, the last mile ortwo through a heavy storm; and then the snow clouds had descended solow and so thick, and gave forth their treasures of snow-flakes soconfusedly and incessantly, that going on was not to be thought of.They were sheltered in the little inn; and that is nearly all you couldsay of it, for the accommodations were of the smallest and simplest.Travellers were not apt to stop at that little hostelry for more than apassing refreshment; and even so, it was too early in the season formany travellers to be expected. So there were Philip and his wife now, making the best of things. Mr. Dillwyn was coaxing the little fire toburn, which had been hastily made on their arrival; but Lois sat at oneof the windows looking out, and every now and then proclaiming herenjoyment by the tone in which some innocent remark came from her lips.

"It is raining now, Philip."

"What do you see in the rain?"

"Nothing whatever, at this minute; but a little while ago there was akind of drawing aside of the thick curtain of falling snow, and I had aview of some terribly grand rocks, and one glimpse of a most wonderfuldistance."

"Vague distance?" said Philip, laughing. "That sounds like looking offinto space."

"Well, it was. Like chaos, and order struggling out of its awfulbeginnings."

"Don't unpractically catch cold, while you are studying naturaldevelopement."

"I am perfectly warm. I think it is great fun to be kept here overnight. Such a nice little place as it is, and such a nice littlehostess. Do you notice how neat everything is? O Philip! – here issomebody else coming!"

"Coming to the inn?"

"Yes. O, I'm afraid so. Here's one of these original little carriagescrawling along, and it has stopped, and the people are getting out.Poor storm-stayed people, like ourselves."

"They will come to a fire, which we didn't," said Philip, leaving hispost now and placing himself at the back of Lois's chair, where he toocould see what was going on in front of the house. A queer littlevehicle had certainly stopped there, and somebody very much muffled hadgot out, and was now helping a second person to alight, which secondperson must be a woman; and she was followed by another woman, whoalighted with less difficulty and less attention, though she had two orthree things to carry.

"I pity women who travel in the Alps with their maids!" said Mr.

Dillwyn.

"Philip, that first one, the gentleman, had a little bit – just a littlebit – the air of your friend, Mr. Caruthers. He was so muffled up, onecould not tell what he was like; but somehow he reminded me of Mr.Caruthers."

"I thought Tom was your friend?"

"Friend? No. He was an acquain'tance; he was never my friend, I think."

"Then his name raises no tender associations in your mind?"

"Why, no!" said Lois, with a gay little laugh. "No, indeed. But I likedhim very well at one time; and I —think– he liked me."

"Poor Tom!"

"Why do you say that?" Lois asked merrily. "He is not poor; he hasmarried a Dulcimer. I never can hear her name without thinking ofNebuchadnezzar's image! He has forgotten me long ago."

"I see you have forgotten him," said Dillwyn, bending down till hisface was very near Lois's.

"How should I not? But I did like him at one time, quite well. Isuppose I was flattered by his attentions, which I think were rathermarked. And you know, at that time I did not know you."

Lois's voice fell a little; the last sentence being given with adelicate, sweet reserve, which spoke much more than effusion. Philip'sanswer was mute.

"Besides," said Lois, "he is a sort of man that I never could haveliked beyond a certain point. He is a weak character; do you know it,Philip?"

"I know it. I observe, that is the last fault women will forgive in aman."

"Why should they?" said Lois. "What have you, where you have notstrength? It is impossible to love where you cannot respect. Or if youlove, it is a poor contemptible sort of love."

Philip laughed; and just then the door opened, and the hostess of theinn appeared on the threshhold, with other figures looming dimly behindher. She came in apologizing. More storm-bound travellers hadarrived – there was no other room with a fire ready – would monsieur andmadame be so gracious and allow the strangers to come in and get warmand dry by their fire? Almost before she had finished her speech thetwo men had sprung towards each other, and "Tom!" – "PhilipDilIwyn!" – had been cried in different tones of surprised greeting.

"Where did you come from?" said Tom, shaking his friend's hand. "What achance! Here is my wife. Arabella, this is Mr. Dillwyn, whose name youhave heard often enough. At the top of this pass! – "

The lady thus addressed came in behind Tom, throwing off her wrappings, and throwing each, or dropping it as it was taken off, into the handsof her attendant who followed her. She appeared now to be a slimperson, of medium height, dressed very handsomely, with aninsignificant face, and a quantity of light hair disposed in amysterious manner to look like a wig. That is, it looked like nothingnatural, and yet could not be resolved by the curious eye into bands orbraids or any defined form of fashionable art or artifice. The facelooked fretted, and returned Mr. Dillwyn's salutation discontentedly.Tom's eye meanwhile had wandered, with an unmistakeable air ofapprehension, towards the fourth member of the party; and Lois cameforward now, giving him a frank greeting, and holding out her hand. Tombowed very low over it, without saying one word; and Philip noted thathis eye shunned Lois's face, and that his own face was all shadowedwhen he raised it. Mr. Dillwyn put himself in between.

"May I present my wife, Mrs. Caruthers?"

Mrs. Caruthers gave Lois a look, swift and dissatisfied, and turned tothe fire, shivering.

"Have we got to stay here?" she asked querulously.

"We couldn't go on, you know," said Tom. "We may be glad of any sort ofa shelter. I am afraid we are interfering with your comfort, Philip; but really, we couldn't help it. The storm's awful outside. Mrs.Caruthers was sure we should be overtaken by an avalanche; and then shewas certain there must be a crevasse somewhere. I wonder if one can getanything to eat in this place?"

"Make yourself easy; they have promised us dinner, and you shall sharewith us. What the dinner will be, I cannot say; but we shall notstarve; and you see what a fire I have coaxed up for you. Take thischair, Mrs. Caruthers."

The lady sat down and hovered over the fire; and Tom restlessly bustledin and out. Mr. DilIwyn tended the fire, and Lois kept a little in thebackground. Till, after an uncomfortable interval, the hostess came in, bringing the very simple fare, which was all she had to set beforethem. Brown bread, and cheese, and coffee, and a common sort of redwine; with a bit of cold salted meat, the precise antecedents of whichit was not so easy to divine. The lady by the fire looked ondisdainfully, and Tom hastened to supplement things from their ownstores. Cold game, white bread, and better wine were produced fromsomewhere, with hard-boiled eggs and even some fruit. Mrs. Carutherssat by the fire and looked on; while Tom brought these articles, oneafter another, and Lois arranged the table. Philip watched hercovertly; admired her lithe figure in its neat mountain dress, which hethought became her charmingly; admired the quiet, delicate tact of herwhole manner and bearing; the grace with which she acted and spoke, aswell as the pretty deftness of her ministrations about the table. Shewas taking the part of hostess, and doing it with simple dignity; andhe was very sorry for Tom. Tom, he observed, would not see her when hecould help it. But they had to all gather round the table together andface each other generally.

"This is improper luxury for the mountains," Dillwyn said.

"Mrs. Caruthers thinks it best to be always provided for occasions.

These small houses, you know, they can't give you any but small fare."

"Small fare is good for you!"

"Good for you," said Tom, – "all right; but my – Arabella cannot eatthings if they are too small. That cheese, now! – "

"It is quite passable."

"Where are you going, Philip?"

"Bound for the AEggischhorn, in the first place."

"You are never going up?"

"Why not?" Lois asked, with her bright smile. Tom glanced at her fromunder his brows, and grew as dark as a thundercloud. She wasministering to Tom's wife in the prettiest way; not assuming anything, and yet acting in a certain sort as mistress of ceremonies. And Mrs.Caruthers was coming out of her apathy every now and then, and lookingat her in a curious attentive way. I dare say it struck Tom hard. Forhe could not but see that to all her natural sweetness Lois had addednow a full measure of the ease and grace which come from the habit ofsociety, and which Lois herself had once admired in the ladies of hisfamily. "Ay, even they wouldn't say she was nobody now!" he said tohimself bitterly. And Philip, he saw, was so accustomed to this fact, that he took it as a matter of course.

"Where are you going after the AEggischhorn?" he went on, to saysomething.

"We mean to work our way, by degrees, to Zermatt."

"We are going to Zermatt," Mrs. Caruthers put in blandly. "We mighttravel in company."

"Can you walk?" asked Philip, smiling.

"Walk!"

"Yes. We do it on foot."

"What for? Pray, pardon me! But are you serious?"

"I am in earnest, if that is what you mean. We do not look upon it in aserious light. It's rather a jollification."

"It is far the pleasantest way, Mrs. Caruthers," Lois added.

"But do you travel without any baggage?"

"Not quite," said Lois demurely. "We generally send that on ahead, except what will go in small satchels slung over the shoulder."

"And take what you can find at the little inns?"

"O yes; and fare very well."

"I like to be comfortable!" sighed the other lady. "Try that wine, andsee how much better it is."

"Thank you, no; I prefer the coffee."

"No use to ask her to take wine," growled Tom. "I know she won't. Shenever would. She has principles. Offer it to Mr. Dillwyn."

"You do me the honour to suppose me without principles," said Philipdryly.

"I don't suppose you hold her principles," said Tom, indicating Loisrather awkwardly by the pronoun rather than in any more definite way."You never used."

"Quite true; I never used. But I do it now."

"Do you mean that you have given up drinking wine?"

"I have given it up?" said Philip, smiling at Tom's air, which wasalmost of consternation.

"Because she don't like it?"

"I hope I would give up a greater thing than that, if she did not likeit," said Philip gravely. "This seems to me not a great thing. But thereason you suppose is not my reason."

"If the reason isn't a secret, I wish you'd mention it; Mrs. Carutherswill be asking me in private, by and by; and I do not like her to askme questions I cannot answer."

"My reason is, – I think it does more harm than good."

"Wine?"

"Wine, and its congeners."

"Take a cup of coffee, Mr. Caruthers," said Lois; "and confess it willdo instead of the other thing."

Tom accepted the coffee; I don't think he could have rejected anythingshe held out to him; but he remarked grumly to Philip, as he took it, —

"It is easy to see where you got your principles!"

"Less easy than you think," Philip answered. "I got them from no livingman or woman, though I grant you, Lois showed me the way to them. I gotthem from the Bible, old friend."

Tom glared at the speaker.

"Have you given up your cigars too?"

Mr. Dillwyn laughed out, and Lois said somewhat exultantly,

"Yes, Mr. Caruthers."

"I am sure I wish you would too!" said Tom's wife deploringly to herhusband. "I think if anything's horrid, it's the after smell oftobacco."

"But the first taste of it is all the comfort a fellow gets in thisworld," said Tom.

"No fellow ought to say that," his friend returned.

"The Bible!" Tom repeated, as if it were a hard pill to swallow.

"Philip Dillwyn quoting that old authority!"

"Perhaps I ought to go a little further, and say, Tom, that my quotingit is not a matter of form. I have taken service in the Christian army, since I saw you the last time. Now tell me how you and Mrs. Carutherscome to be at the top of this pass in a snow-storm on the sixteenth ofJune?"

"Fate!" said Tom.

"We did not expect to have a snow-storm, Mr. Dillwyn," Mrs. Caruthersadded.

"But you might," said Philip. "There have been snow-storms everywherein Switzerland this year."

"Well," said Tom, "we did not come for pleasure, anyhow. Never shoulddream of it, until a month later. But Mrs. Caruthers got word that aspecial friend of hers would be at Zermatt by a certain day, and beggedto meet her; and stay was uncertain; and so we took what was said to bethe shortest way from where the letter found us. And here we are."

"How is the coffee, Mr. Caruthers?" Lois asked pleasantly. Tom lookedinto the depths of his coffee cup, as if it were an abstraction, andthen answered, that it was the best coffee he had ever had inSwitzerland; and upon that he turned determinately to Mr. Dillwyn andbegan to talk of other things, unconnected with Switzerland or thepresent time. Lois was fain to entertain Tom's wife. The two women hadlittle in common; nevertheless Mrs. Caruthers gradually warmed underthe influence that shone upon her; thawed out, and began even to enjoyherself. Tom saw it all, without once turning his face that way; and hewas fool enough to fancy that he was the only one. But Philip saw ittoo, as it were without looking; and delighted himself all the while inthe gracious sweetness, and the tender tact, and the simple dignity ofunconsciousness, with which Lois attended to everybody, ministered toeverybody, and finally smoothed down even poor Mrs. Caruthers' ruffledplumes under her sympathizing and kindly touch.

"How soon will you be at Zermatt?" the latter asked. "I wish we couldtravel together! When do you expect to get there?"

"O, I do not know. We are going first, you know, to the AEggischhorn.We go where we like, and stay as long as we like; and we never knowbeforehand how it will be."

"But so early! – "

"Mr. Dillwyn wanted me to see the flowers. And the snow views are grandtoo; I am very glad not to miss them. Just before you came, I had one.The clouds swept apart for a moment, and gave me a wonderful sight of agorge, the wildest possible, and tremendous rocks, half revealed, and achaos of cloud and storm."

"Do you like that?"

"I like it all," said Lois, smiling. And the other woman looked, with afascinated, uncomprehending air, at the beauty of that smile.

"But why do you walk?"

"O, that's half the fun," cried Lois. "We gain so a whole world ofthings that other people miss. And the walking itself is delightful."

"I wonder if I could walk?" said Mrs. Caruthers enviously. "How far canyou go in a day? You must make very slow progress?"

"Not very. Now I am getting in training, we can do twenty or thirtymiles a day with ease."

"Twenty or thirty miles!" Mrs. Caruthers as nearly screamed aspoliteness would let her do.

"We do it easily, beginning the day early."

"How early? What do you call early?"

"About four or five o'clock."

Mrs. Caruthers looked now as if she were staring at a prodigy.

"Start at four o'clock! Where do you get breakfast? Don't you havebreakfast? Will the people give you breakfast so early? Why, they wouldhave to be up by two."

Tom was listening now. He could not help it.

"O, we have breakfast," Lois said. "We carry it with us, and we stop atsome nice place and take rest on the rocks, or on a soft carpet ofmoss, when we have walked an hour or two. Mr. Dillwyn carries ourbreakfast in a little knapsack."

"Is it nice?" enquired the lady, with such an expression of doubt andscruple that the risible nerves of the others could not stand it, andthere was a general burst of laughter.

"Come and try once," said Lois, "and you will see."

"If you do not like such fare," Philip went on, "you can almost alwaysstop at a house and get breakfast."

"I could not eat dry food," said the lady; "and you do not drink wine.

What do you drink? Water?"

"Sometimes. Generally we manage to get milk. It is fresh and excellent."

"And without cups and saucers?" said the astonished lady. Lois's"ripple of laughter" sounded again softly.

"Not quite without cups; I am afraid we really do without saucers. Wehave an unlimited tablecloth, you know, of lichen and moss."

"And you really enjoy it?"

But here Lois shook her head. "There are no words to tell how much."

Mrs. Caruthers sighed. If she had spoken out her thoughts, it was tooplain to Lois, she would have said, "I do not enjoy anything."

"How long are you thinking to stay on this side of the water?" Tomasked his friend now.

"Several months yet, I hope. I want to push on into Tyrol. We are notin a hurry. The old house at home is getting put into order, and tillit is ready for habitation we can be nowhere better than here."

"The old house? your house, do you mean? the old house at Battersby?"

"Yes."

"You are not going there? for the winter at least?"

"Yes, we propose that. Why?"

"It is I that should ask 'why.' What on earth should you go to livethere for?"

"It is a nice country, a very good house, and a place I am fond of, and

I think Lois will like."

"But out of the world!"

"Only out of your world," his friend returned, with a smile.

"Why should you go out of our world? it is the world."

"For what good properties?"

"And it has always been your world," Tom went on, disregarding thisquestion.

"I told you, I am changed."

"But does becoming a Christian change a man, Mr. Dillwyn?" Mrs.

Caruthers asked.

"So the Bible says."

"I never saw much difference. I thought we were all Christians."

"If you were to live a while in the house with that lady," said Tomdarkly, "you'd find your mistake. What in all the world do you expectto do up there at Battersby?" he went on, turning to his friend.

"Live," said Philip. "In your world you only drag along existence. Andwe expect to work, which you never do. There is no real living withoutworking, man. Try it, Tom."

"Cannot you work, as you call it, in town?"

"We want more free play, and more time, than town life allows one."

"Besides, the country is so much pleasanter," Lois added.

"But such a neighbourhood! you don't know the neighbourhood – but youdo, Philip. You have no society, and Battersby is nothing but amanufacturing place – "

"Battersby is three and a half miles off; too far for its noise or itssmoke to reach us; and we can get society, as much as we want, andwhat we want; and in such a place there is always a great deal thatmight be done."

The talk went on for some time; Mrs. Caruthers seeming amazed andmystified, Tom dissatisfied and critical. At last, being informed thattheir own quarters were ready, the later comers withdrew, afteragreeing that they would all sup together.

"Tom," said Mrs. Caruthers presently, "whom did Mr. Dillwyn marry?"

"Whom did he marry?"

"Yes. Who was she before she married?"

"I always heard she was nobody," Tom answered, with something between agrunt and a groan.

"Nobody! But that's nonsense. I haven't seen a woman with more style ina great while."

"Style!" echoed Tom, and his word would have had a sharp addition if hehad not been speaking to his wife; but Tom was before all things agentleman. As it was, his tone would have done honour to a grisly bearsomewhat out of temper.

"Yes," repeated Mrs. Caruthers. "You may not know it, Tom, being a man; but I know what I am saying; and I tell you Mrs. Dillwyn has verydistinguished manners. I hope we may see a good deal of them."

Meanwhile Lois was standing still where they had left her, in front ofthe fire; looking down meditatively into it. Her face was grave, andher abstraction for some minutes deep. I suppose her New Englandreserve was struggling with her individual frankness of nature, for shesaid no word, and Mr. Dillwyn, who was watching her, also stood silent.At last frankness, or affection, got the better of reserve; and, with aslow, gentle motion she turned to him, laying one hand on his shoulder, and sinking her face upon his breast.

"Lois! what is it?" he asked, folding his arms about her.

"Philip, it smites me!"

"What, my darling?" he said, almost startled. And then she lifted upher face and looked at him.

"To know myself so happy, and to see them so unhappy. Philip, they arenot happy, – neither one of them!"

"I am afraid it is true. And we can do nothing to help them."

"No, I see that too."

Lois said it with a sigh, and was silent again. Philip did not chooseto push the subject further, uncertain how far her perceptions went, and not wishing to give them any assistance. Lois stood silent andpondering, still within his arms, and he waited and watched her. Atlast she began again.

"We cannot do them any good. But I feel as if I should like to spendmy life in making people happy."

"How many people?" said her husband fondly, with a kiss or two whichexplained his meaning. Lois laughed out.

"Philip, I do not make you happy."

"You come very near it."

"But I mean – Your happiness has something better to rest on. I shouldlike to spend my life bringing happiness to the people who know nothingabout being happy."

"Do it, sweetheart!" said he, straining her a little closer. "And letme help."

"Let you help! – when you would have to do almost the whole. But, to besure, money is not all; and money alone will not do it, in most cases.Philip, I will tell you where I should like to begin."

"Where? I will begin there also."

"With Mrs. Barclay."

"Mrs. Barclay!" There came a sudden light into Philip's eyes.

"Do you know, she is not a happy woman?"

"I know it."

"And she seems very much alone in the world."

"She is alone in the world."

"And she has been so good to us! She has done a great deal for Madgeand me."

"She has done as much for me."

"I don't know about that. I do not see how she could. In a way, I oweher almost everything. Philip, you would never have married the woman Iwas three years ago."

"Don't take your oath upon that," he said lightly.

"But you would not, and you ought not."

"There is a counterpart to that. I am sure you would not have marriedthe man I was three years ago."

At that Lois laid down her face again for a moment on his breast.

"I had a pretty hard quarter of an hour in a sleigh with you once!" shesaid.

Philip's answer was again wordless.

"But about Mrs. Barclay?" said Lois, recovering herself.

"Are you one of the few women who can keep to the point?" said he, laughing.

"What can we do for her?"

"What would you like to do for her?"

"Oh – Make her happy!"

"And to that end – ?"

Lois lifted her face and looked into Mr. Dillwyn's as if she wouldsearch out something there. The frank nobleness which belonged to itwas encouraging, and yet she did not speak.

"Shall we ask her to make her home with us?"

"O Philip!" said Lois, with her face all illuminated, – "would you likeit?"

"I owe her much more than you do. And, love, I like what you like."

"Would she come?"

"If she could resist you and me together, she would be harder than Ithink her."

"I love her very much," said Lois thoughtfully, "and I think she lovesme. And if she will come – I am almost sure we can make her happy."

"We will try, darling."

"And these other people – we need not meet them at Zermatt, need we?"

"We will find it not convenient."

Neither at Zermatt nor anywhere else in Switzerland did the friendsagain join company. Afterwards, when both parties had returned to theirown country, it was impossible but that encounters should now and thentake place. But whenever and wherever they happened, Tom made them asshort as his wife would let him. And as long as he lives, he will neversee Mrs. Philip Dillwyn without a clouding of his face and a veryevident discomposure of his gay and not specially profound nature. Ithas tenacity somewhere, and has received at least one thing which itwill never lose.