“But – we can hardly lay your friend’s good-nature under such a heavy contribution,” she said, with a queer little smile.
“Oh, can’t we! Old Fordham is the best fellow in the world – only wants knowing a bit. He’ll do anything he’s asked.”
That queer smile broadened round Alma’s lips. She had sat opposite the now eulogised Fordham during the whole of dinner-time; and, be it remembered, she was given to studying character. But she said nothing, and by this time they had regained the hotel.
A cool fountain was playing in the terraced garden in front of the promenoir, shooting high in the air and falling back into its basin in a shower of scattering diamond drops. Beside this, leaning on an alpenstock, a big meerschaum in his mouth, stood General Wyatt.
“Well, Alma. Been ravaging the narcissus fields?” he said, as they came up. “But what on earth will you do with all that lot? A trifle too strong, won’t it be, for any ordinary-sized room?”
“I don’t think so, uncle. Why, in England people would give anything for such magnificent blossoms as these, and here we are already beginning to think them nothing very great. But I’ll go and put them in water for the present.”
“Well, don’t be long, dear, or we sha’n’t get our walk,” he called after her.
“Grand day, General?” said Philip, re-lighting his pipe.
“It is, indeed. By the bye, since I’ve heard your name, are you in any way related to Francis Orlebar – Sir Francis he is now?”
“Rather closely. He happens to be my father. Did you know him well?”
“You don’t say so! Well, well! It’s a small world, after all. Know him well? I should think I did. I was some years his senior though, and he wasn’t long in the service. But that must have been before you were born.”
“And have you never met since, General?”
“Only once – just about the time he got into that – er – ah.” And the old man, remembering who he was talking to, suddenly pulled himself up and launched forth into a tremendous sneeze. The slip was not lost upon Phil, but he came to the rescue promptly.
“Think we are like each other, General?” he said.
“N-no! Don’t know though. There is a likeness. You’re the finer built fellow of the two – taller and broader. Bless my soul, though, but the world is a small one. To think of Frank Orlebar’s son turning up in this way?”
“I hope I’m not interrupting, General Wyatt,” said a feminine and tentative voice. “Your niece was saying last night she was a perfect stranger here, and we thought she might like to go with us. We are going to the Cubly. It isn’t far, and we shall be back to lunch. We hope you will come too.”
The speaker was one of the two girls who had passed our friends in the Gorge du Chauderon. Phil had already made a little conversation with her the evening before. So now she turned and extended the invitation to him. He gladly accepted, while the General answered for Alma and himself that nothing would give them greater pleasure. And at that moment Alma reappeared and they started. The Miss Ottleys were pleasant well-bred girls of artistic tastes and plenty of conversation, and the walk promised to be a success.
We shall not, however, follow the party to the pine-crowned height sheering up from the vine-clad slopes immediately behind Montreux, nor share in the magnificent panorama which it affords. Sufficient to say that at the end of three hours they returned, in the highest spirits and on the best of terms with themselves and each other. In such free and easy fashion are acquaintanceships formed and often consolidated into friendships, amid the pleasant unconventionally of life in mountain hotels.
Chapter Five
Fordham Philosophises
“I say, Fordham. We’re getting up an expedition for to-morrow, and you’ve got to come,” cried Phil, bursting into his friend’s room just before dinner one evening.
“Have I?” replied the latter leisurely, turning round with a half-soaped visage, and razor arrested in mid-air. “But, Phil, it’s rather lucky you didn’t swoop down in such hurricane method upon a more nervous man than yours truly, or it’s wildly hunting for sticking plaster he’d be at this moment. And now, for my enlightenment, who’s we?”
“Oh, the Ottleys and the Wyatts and one or two more. We want to start early, cross the lake by steamer and get as far up that valley on the other side as we can.”
“To Novèl? Yes, and then?”
“Why then we are going to charter a boat and row back in the cool of the evening.”
“Not a bad scheme. Who do you say are going, beside the inseparables?”
“One of the Miss Milnes – the pretty one – and that fellow Scott.”
“Scott, the devil-dodger?”
“Yes. The Ottleys have asked him. I can’t think why, for he’s a rank ‘outsider.’”
“Most of the ‘shepherds’ appointed to administer ‘Dearly beloved brethren’ to their countrywomen in this otherwise favoured land are, my dear chap. But it’s all the better for you. He can take the two Ottley nymphs off your hands while you offer latria to the fair Inkermann – no Alma – I beg your pardon.”
“But – but hang it, that’s just what the beggar won’t do,” blurted Phil in desperation. “Fact is he’s always in the way, and really it’s contemptible, you know; but what’s to be done with a cad like that, who ignores a snub that another fellow would knock you down for – or try to? You’ll come along, old man, won’t you?”
“Let’s see. There’s the General, he’s too old and don’t count. Then there’s yourself and the parson; and they want a third donkey – I mean beast of burden. Two won’t be enough to sling all the panniers they’ll want along. I’m afraid, Phil, you mustn’t count upon me, unless you can manage to supply the missing steed first.”
“Bosh, Fordham! You won’t be wanted to carry anything.”
“Not, eh? Let’s see again. Four females – that means eight wraps, putting it at the lowest computation. Add to that the delicate creatures’ rations – for you can’t get anything eatable or drinkable at Novèl – and sunshades, which they must have for crossing the lake, don’t you know, and which they’ll discard directly they begin to walk. And there’s all the amateur-commissionaire business into the bargain. No, no, Phil. Having given the matter my most careful consideration, I regret to say that I am unable to undertake it – as the publisher said when he ‘chucked’ the budding author’s MS.”
“You old savage! If you weren’t shaving I’d ‘chuck’ all the boots and bolsters in the room at your head.”
“Well, I’ve done now, so you can begin. But, I say, Phil,” he went on, tranquilly, “how long have we been here?”
Philip Orlebar’s handsome head was well through the open window at that moment. His friend therefore found it necessary to repeat the question.
“Eh – what? How long? Oh, about ten days, haven’t we?”
“I believe we have,” rejoined the other in the same silky tone. “And, my dear boy, doesn’t it strike you that you are getting on ra-ather rapidly?”
“No. Why?”
“Nothing. Only that even the charm of my improving conversation does not avail to keep your head within that window, when some inexplicable instinct – for you couldn’t possibly have seen her – warns you that your