felt as though she were somewhere close; he _knew_ she had not really
gone. While people came and left with every day, it never once occurred
to him that she had left. On the contrary, he felt assured that they
would meet again.

This thought he never quite acknowledged. Perhaps it was the wish that
fathered it only. And, even when he did meet her, it was a question how
he would speak and claim acquaintance, or whether _she_ would recognise
himself. It might be awkward. He almost came to dread a meeting, though
"dread," of course, was far too strong a word to describe an emotion
that was half delight, half wondering anticipation.

Meanwhile the season was in full swing. Hibbert felt in perfect health,
worked hard, ski-d, skated, luged, and at night danced fairly often--in
spite of his decision. This dancing was, however, an act of subconscious
surrender; it really meant he hoped to find her among the whirling
couples. He was searching for her without quite acknowledging it to
himself; and the hotel-world, meanwhile, thinking it had won him over,
teased and chaffed him. He made excuses in a similar vein; but all the
time he watched and searched and--waited.

For several days the sky held clear and bright and frosty, bitterly
cold, everything crisp and sparkling in the sun; but there was no sign
of fresh snow, and the ski-ers began to grumble. On the mountains was an
icy crust that made "running" dangerous; they wanted the frozen, dry,
and powdery snow that makes for speed, renders steering easier and
falling less severe. But the keen east wind showed no signs of changing
for a whole ten days. Then, suddenly, there came a touch of softer air
and the weather-wise began to prophesy.