“Let him get them shod like alpenstocks,” quoth Bob, “and nails in his boots; then they’ll be ready when he does the Matterhorn!”

It might have passed for boyish banter, but I knew that it was something more; the use of the third person changed from chaff to scorn as I listened, and my sympathetic resolution went to the winds.

“Thank you,” I replied; “in that case I shall be delighted to come, and I’ll take your tip at once by giving orders about my boots.”

And with that I resigned my chair to Bob, not sorry for the chance; he should not be able to say that I had monopolised Mrs. Lascelles without intermission from the first.  Nevertheless, I was annoyed with him for what he had said, and for the moment my actions were no part of my scheme.  Consequently I was thus in the last mood for a familiarity from Quinby, who was hanging about the door between the veranda and the hall, and who would not let me pass.

“That’s awfully nice of you,” he had the impudence to whisper.

“What do you mean?”

“Giving that poor young beggar another chance!”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Oh, I like that!  You know very well that you’ve gone in on the military ticket and deliberately cut the poor youngster—­”

I did not wait to hear the end of this gratuitous observation.  It was very rude of me, but in another minute I should have been guilty of a worse affront.  My annoyance had deepened into something like dismay.  It was not only Bob Evers who was misconstruing my little attentions to Mrs. Lascelles.  I was more or less prepared for that.  But here were outsiders talking about us—­the three of us!  So far from putting a stop to the talk, I had given it a regular fillip:  here were Quinby and his friends as keen as possible to see what would happen next, if not betting on a row.  The situation had taken a sudden turn for the worse.  I forgot the pleasant hours that I had passed with Mrs. Lascelles, and began to wish myself well out of the whole affair.  But I had now no intention of getting out of the glacier expedition.  I would not have missed it on any account.  Bob had brought that on himself.

And I daresay we seemed a sufficiently united trio as we marched along the pretty winding path to the Findelen next morning.  Dear Bob was not only such a gentleman, but such a man, that it was almost a pleasure to be at secret issue with him; he would make way for me at our lady’s side, listen with interest when she made me spin my martial yarns, laugh if there was aught to laugh at, and in a word, give me every conceivable chance.  His manners might have failed him for one heated moment overnight; they were beyond all praise this morning; and I repeatedly discerned a morbid sporting dread of giving the adversary less than fair play.  It was sad to me to consider myself as such to Catherine’s son, but I was determined not to let the thought depress me, and there