"Oh, it would, it would. Please go on, and don't require so much persuasion. I am just longing to hear the story."

"It isn't much of a story, because, you see, there is no Alpine glow about it."

Archie glanced at the girl, and it flashed across his mind that he was probably then in the greatest danger he had ever been in, in his life.

She bent forward toward him, her elbows on her knees, and her chin-- such a pretty chin!--in her hands. Her eyes were full upon him, and Archie had sense enough to realise that there was danger in their clear pellucid depths, so he turned his own from them, and sought refuge in his old friend, the Stockhorn.

"I think the narrowest escape I ever had was about two weeks ago. I went up----"

"With how many guides?" interrupted Bessie breathlessly.

"With none at all," answered Archie, with a laugh.

"Isn't that very unsafe? I thought one always should have a guide."

"Sometimes guides are unnecessary. I took none on this occasion, because I only ascended as far as the Chateau in Thun, some three hundred feet above where we are sitting, and as I went by the main street of the town, the climb was perfectly safe in all weathers.

Besides, there is generally a policeman about."

"Oh!" said the girl, sitting up suddenly very straight.

Archie was looking at the mountains, and did not see the hot anger surge up into her face.

"You know the steps leading down from the castle. They are covered in, and are very dark when one comes out of the bright sunlight. Some fool had been eating an orange there, and had carelessly thrown the peel on the steps. I did not notice it, and so trod on a bit. The next thing I knew I was in a heap at the foot of that long stairway, thinking every bone in my body was broken. I had many bruises, but no hurt that was serious; nevertheless, I never had such a fright in my life, and I hope never to have such another."

Bessie rose up with much dignity. "I am obliged to you for your recital, Mr. Severance," she said freezingly. "If I do not seem to appreciate your story as much as I should, it is perhaps because I am not accustomed to being laughed at."

"I a.s.sure you, Miss Durand, that I am not laughing at you, and that this pathetic incident was anything but a laughing matter to me. The Stockhorn has no such danger lying in wait for a man as a bit of orange-peel on a dark and steep stairway. Please do not be offended with me. I told you my stories have no Alpine glow about them, but the danger was undoubtedly there."

Archie had risen to his feet, but there was no forgiveness in Miss Durand's eyes as she bade him "Good-morning," and went into the hotel, leaving him standing there.

During the week that followed, Archie had little chance of making his peace with Miss Durand, for in that week the Sanderson episode had its beginning, its rise, and its culmination. Charley Sanderson, emboldened by the sudden departure of Wellman, became the constant attendant of Bessie, and everything appeared to be in his favour until the evening he left. That evening the two strolled along the walk that borders the north side of the river, leading to the lake. They said they were going to see the Alpine glow on the snow mountains, but n.o.body believed that, for the glow can be seen quite as well from the terrace in front of the hotel. Be that as it may, they came back together, shortly before eight o'clock, Bessie looking her prettiest, and Sanderson with a black frown on his face, evidently in the worst of tempers. He flung his belongings into a bag, and departed by the 8:40 train for Berne. As Archie met the pair, Bessie actually smiled very sweetly upon him, while Sanderson glared as if he had never met Severance before.

"_That_ episode is evidently ended," said Archie to himself, as he continued his walk toward Lake Thun. "I wonder if it is pure devilment that induces her to lead people on to a proposal, and then drop them. I suppose Charley will leave now, and we'll have no more games of billiards together. I wonder why they all seem to think it the proper thing to go away. I wouldn't. A woman is like a difficult peak--if you don't succeed the first time, you should try again. I believe I shall try half a dozen proposals with Bessie myself. If I ever come to the point, she won't find it so easy to get rid of me as she does of all the rest."

Meditating thus, he sat down on a bench under the trees facing the lake. Archie wondered if the momentous question had been asked at this spot. It seemed just the place for it, and he noticed that the gravel on the path was much disturbed, as if by the iron-shod point of an agitated man's cane. Then he remembered that Sanderson was carrying an iron-pointed cane. As Archie smiled and looked about him, he saw on the seat beside him a neat little morocco-bound book with a silver clasp.

It had evidently slipped from the insecure dress-pocket of a lady who had been sitting there. Archie picked it up and turned it over and over in his hands. It is a painful thing to be compelled to make excuse for one of whom we would fain speak well, but it must be admitted that at this point in his life Severance did what he should not have done--he actually read the contents of the book, although he must have been aware, before he turned the second leaf, that what was there set down was meant for no eye save the writer's own. Archie excuses himself by maintaining that he had to read the book before he could be sure it belonged to anybody in particular, and that he opened it at first merely to see if there were a name or card inside; but there is little doubt that the young man knew from the very first whose book it was, and he might at least have asked Miss Durand if it were hers before he opened it. However, there is little purpose in speculating on what might have been, and as the reading of the note-book led directly to the utterly unjustifiable action of Severance afterwards, as one wrong step invariably leads to another, the contents of the little volume are here given, so that the reader of this tragedy may the more fully understand the situation.

II.--BESSIE'S CONFESSION.

"_Aug. 1st_.--The keeping of a diary is a silly fashion, and I am sure I would not bother with one, if my memory were good, and if I had not a great object in view. However, I do not intend this book to be more than a collection of notes that will be useful to me when I begin my novel. The novel is to be the work of my life, and I mean to use every talent I may have to make it unique and true to life. I think the New Woman novel is a thing of the past, and that the time has now come for a story of the old sort, yet written with a fidelity to life such as has never been attempted by the old novelists. A painter or a sculptor uses a model while producing a great picture or a statue. Why should not a writer use a model also? The motive of all great novels must be love, and the culminating point of a love-story is the proposal. In no novel that I have ever read is the proposal well done.

Men evidently do not talk to each other about the proposals they make, therefore a man-writer has merely his own experience to go upon, so his proposals have a sameness--his hero proposes just as he himself has done or would do. Women-writers seem to have more imagination in this matter, but they describe a proposal as they would like it to be, and not as it actually is. I find that it is quite an easy thing to get a man to propose. I suppose I have a gift that way, and, besides, there is no denying the fact that I am handsome, and perhaps that is something of an aid. I therefore intend to write down in this book all my proposals, using the exact language the man employed, and thus I shall have the proposals in my novel precisely as they occurred. I shall also set down here any thoughts that may be of use to me when I write my book.

"_Aug. 2nd._--I shall hereafter not date the notes in this book; that will make it look less like a diary, which I detest. We are in Thun, which is a lovely place. Humboldt, whoever he is or was, said it is one of the three prettiest spots on earth. I wonder what the names are of the other two. We intended to stay but one night at this hotel, but I see it is full of young men, and as all the women seem to be rather ugly and given to gossip, I think this is just the place for the carrying out of my plans. The average young man is always ready to fall in love while on his vacation--it makes time pa.s.s so pleasantly; and as I read somewhere that man, as a general rule, proposes fourteen times during his life, I may as well, in the interests of literature, be the recipient of some of these offers. I have hit on what I think is a marvellous idea. I shall arrange the offers with some regard to the scenery, just as I suppose a stage-manager does. One shall propose by the river--there are lovely shady walks on both sides; another, up in the mountains; another, in the moonlight on the lake, in one of the pretty foreign-looking rowing boats they have here, with striped awnings. I don't believe any novelist has ever thought of such a thing.

Then I can write down a vivid description of the scenery in conjunction with the language the young man uses. If my book is not a success, it will be because there are no discriminating critics in England.

"First proposal--This came on rather unexpectedly. His name is Samuel Caldwell, and he is a curate here for his health. He is not in the least in love with me, but he thinks he is, and so, I suppose, it comes to the same thing. He began by saying that I was the only one who ever understood his real aspirations, and that if I would join my lot with his he was sure we should not only bring happiness to ourselves, but to others as well. I told him gently that my own highest aspiration was to write a successful novel, and this horrified him, for he thinks novels are wicked. He has gone to Grindelwald, where he thinks the air is more suitable for his lungs. I hardly count this as a proposal, and it took me so much by surprise that it was half over before I realised it was actually an offer of his heart and hand. Besides, it took place in the hotel garden, of all unlikely spots, where we were in constant danger of interruption.

"Second proposal--Richard King is a very nice fellow, and was tremendously in earnest. He says his life is blighted, but he will soon come to a different opinion at Interlaken, where Margaret Dunn writes me it is very gay, and where Richard has gone. Last evening we strolled down by the lake, and he suggested that we should go out on the water.

He engaged a boat with two women to row, one sitting at the stern, and the other standing at the prow, working great oars that looked like cricket-bats. The women did not understand English, and we floated on the lake until the moon came up over the snow mountains. Richard leaned over, and tried to take my hand, whispering, in a low voice, 'Bessie.'

I confess I was rather in a flutter, and could think of nothing better to say than 'Sir!' in a tone of surprise and indignation. He went on hurriedly--

"'Bessie,' he said, 'we have known each other only a few days, but in those few days I have lived in Paradise.'

"'Yes,' I answered, gathering my wits about me; 'Humboldt says Thun is one of the three--'

"Richard interrupted me with something that sounded remarkably like 'Hang Thun!' Then he went on, and said that I was all the world to him; that he could not live without me. I shook my head slowly, and did not reply. He spoke with a fluency that seemed to suggest practice, but I told him it could never be. Then he folded his arms, sitting moodily back in the boat, saying I had blighted his life. He did look handsome as he sat there in the moonlight, with a deep frown on his brow; but I could not help thinking he sat back purposely, so that the moonlight might strike his face. I wish I could write down the exact language he used, for he was very eloquent; but somehow I cannot bring myself to do it, even in this book. I am sure, however, that when I come to write my novel, and turn up these notes, I shall recall the words. Still, I intended to put down the exact phrases. I wish I could take notes at the time, but when a man is proposing he seems to want all your attention.

"A fine, stalwart young man came to the hotel to-day, bronzed by mountain climbing. He looks as if he would propose in a manner not so much like all the rest. I have found that his name is Archibald Severance, and they say he is a great mountaineer. What a splendid thing a proposal on the high Alps would be from such a man, with the gleaming snow all around! I think I shall use that idea in the book.

"Third, fourth, fifth, and sixth proposals. I must confess that I am amazed and disappointed with the men. Is there no such thing as originality among mankind? You would think they had all taken lessons from some proposing master; they all have the same formula. The last four began by calling me 'Bessie,' with the air of taking a great and important step in life. Mr. Wellman varied it a little by asking me to call him Jimmy, but the principle is just the same. I suppose this sameness is the result of our modern system of education. I am sure Archie would act differently. I am not certain that I like him, but he interests me more than any of the others. I was very angry with him a week ago. He knows it, but he doesn't seem to care. As soon as Charley Sanderson proposes, I will see what can be done with Mr. Archie Severance.

"I like the name Archie. It seems to suit the young man exactly. I have been wondering what sort of scenery would accord best with Mr.

Severance's proposal. I suppose a glacier would be about the correct thing, for I imagine Archie is rather cold and sneering when he is not in very good humour. The lake would be too placid for his proposal; and when one is near the rapids, one cannot hear what the man is saying. I think the Kohleren Gorge would be just the spot; it is so wild and romantic, with a hundred waterfalls dashing down the precipices. I must ask Archie if he has ever seen the Kohleren Falls. I suppose he will despise them because they are not up among the snow-peaks."

III.--BESSIE'S PROPOSAL.

After reading the book which he had no business to read, Archie closed the volume, fastened the clasp, and slipped it into his inside pocket.

There was a meditative look in his eyes as he gazed over the blue lake.

"I can't return it to her--now," Archie said to himself. "Perhaps I should not have read it. So she is not a flirt, after all, but merely uses us poor mortals as models." Archie sighed. "I think that's better than being a flirt--but I'm not quite sure. I suppose an author is justified in going to great lengths to ensure the success of so important a thing as a book. It may be that I can a.s.sist her with this tremendous work of fiction. I shall think about it. But what am I to do about this little diary? I must think about that as well. I can't give it to her and say I did not read it, for I am such a poor hand at lying. Good heavens! I believe that is Bessie coming alone along the river-bank. I'll wager she has missed the book and knows pretty accurately where she lost it. I'll place it where I found it, and hide."

The line of trees along the path made it easy for Archie to carry out successfully his hastily formed resolution. He felt like a sneak, a feeling he thoroughly merited, as he dodged behind the trees and so worked his way to the main road. He saw Bessie march straight for the bench, pick up the book, and walk back towards the hotel, without ever glancing round, and her definite action convinced Archie that she had no suspicion any one had seen her book. This made the young man easier in his mind, and he swung along the Interlaken road towards Thun, flattering himself that no harm had been done. Nevertheless, he had resolved to revenge Miss Bessie's innocent victims, and as he walked, he turned plan after plan over in his mind. Vengeance would be all the more complete, as the girl had no idea that her literary methods were known to any one but herself.

For the next week Archie was very attentive to Bessie, and it must be recorded that the pretty young woman seemed to appreciate his devotion thoroughly and to like it. One morning, beautifully arrayed in walking costume, Bessie stood on the terrace, apparently scanning the sky as if anxious about the weather, but in reality looking out for an escort, the gossips said to each other as they sat under the awnings busy at needlework and slander, for of course no such thought was in the young lady's mind. She smiled sweetly when Archie happened to come out of the billiard-room; but then she always greeted her friends in a kindly manner.

"Are you off for a walk this morning?" asked Archie, in the innocent tone of one who didn't know, and really desired the information.

He spoke for the benefit of the gossips; but they were not to be taken in by any such transparent device. They sniffed with contempt, and said it was brazen of the two to pretend that they were not meeting there by appointment.

"Yes," said Bessie, with a saucy air of defiance, as if she did not care who knew it; "I am going by the upper road to the Kohleren Falls.

Have you ever seen them?"

"No. Are they pretty?"

"Pretty! They are grand--at least, the gorge is, although, perhaps, you would not think either the gorge or the falls worth visiting."

"How can I tell until I have visited them? Won't you be my guide there?"

"I shall be most happy to have you come, only you must promise to speak respectfully of both ravine and falls."