III


In the morning Hibbert realised he had done, perhaps, a foolish thing.
The brilliant sunshine that drenched the valley made him see this, and
the sight of his work-table with its typewriter, books, papers, and the
rest, brought additional conviction. To have skated with a girl alone
at midnight, no matter how innocently the thing had come about, was
unwise--unfair, especially to her. Gossip in these little winter resorts
was worse than in a provincial town. He hoped no one had seen them.
Luckily the night had been dark. Most likely none had heard the ring of
skates.

Deciding that in future he would be more careful, he plunged into work,
and sought to dismiss the matter from his mind.

But in his times of leisure the memory returned persistently to haunt
him. When he "ski-d," "luged," or danced in the evenings, and especially
when he skated on the little rink, he was aware that the eyes of his
mind forever sought this strange companion of the night. A hundred times
he fancied that he saw her, but always sight deceived him. Her face he
might not know, but he could hardly fail to recognise her figure. Yet
nowhere among the others did he catch a glimpse of that slim young
creature he had skated with alone beneath the clouded stars. He searched
in vain. Even his inquiries as to the occupants of the private chalets
brought no results. He had lost her. But the queer thing was that he