ALMA.

Everybody visiting at Les Avants for the first time while the narcissus

is in full bloom, is apt to grow more than enthusiastic over that lovely

and fragrant flower, even as in higher localities everybody is bound to

gush inordinately over that other blossom which is like unto a gun-wad

picked into fluff, and is neither lovely nor fragrant--to wit, the

_edelweiss_. This being so, it is not surprising that Alma Wyatt should

have seized the very first opportunity of escaping from the house with

intent to cull as huge a bunch of the beautiful blossoms as she could

possibly carry.

It was a radiant morning. The sky a deep and dazzling blue, such as is

never to be seen over this uncertain and watery England of ours, was

unflecked by a single cloud, and the air, mellow and balmy in the early

forenoon, distilled a most exquisite perfume. To Alma it seemed as if

all the glories of Paradise lay spread around her as she wandered on

through the white and shining fields, drinking in the floods of

fragrance diffused by the breath of a million snowy petals. Opposite,

the great slopes were all aglow with green and gold, relieved by the

sombre plumage of shaggy pines straggling up to the frowning scarp of

the Dent de Jaman as though they aspired to scale that grim and

forbidding wall, and had been forced to yield sullenly in the attempt.

A mellow haze rested upon the soaring peaks beyond the fragment of blue

lake just visible--blue as the sky above; and from his pent-up prison

far down in the deep and wooded gorge the hoarse thunder of the mountain

torrent was borne upward in subdued and unending cadence, to mingle with

the hum of bees culling their sweet stores from the luscious cells of

the narcissus blossoms. Small wonder that to this girl with the large,

earnest eyes and poetic temperament--small wonder that to this girl, but

two days out from damp and cockneyfied Surbiton, the majesty of the

great mountains, the hoary cliffs still flaked with snow towering on

high, the black and stately pines, the vernal pastures and the far-away

echo of melodious cow-bells, the blue lake and the golden splendour of

this radiant Swiss summer, should be as something more than a glimpse of

the glories of Paradise.

She was glad that she had come out alone, glad that she had not met any

of the other girls with whom she had made acquaintance the evening

before. It was delicious to be free to drink in all the wealth of this

Elysium without feeling constrained to talk, to reply to commonplaces

which should let in the outside world, vulgar by comparison, upon the

illimitable charm of this fairy scene. For this was her first

experience of Switzerland--almost of the Continent--and it in nowise

fell short of the ideal she had formed.

Alma Wyatt had been left fatherless at an early age. Better for her had

she been orphaned altogether. Her childhood had been wholly uncared

for, and, as far as her mother was concerned, unloved. For she had a

younger sister upon whom that mother's love was concentrated to doting

point. All the bitterness of home life had fallen to Alma, all the

sweets thereof to her sister. Their mother, a selfish, domineering

woman, whose redeeming qualities were infinitesimal even to vanishing

point, simply made the elder girl's life wretched within that

semi-detached villa at cockneyfied Surbiton, but for the younger the

slender resources of a cramped income were strained to the uttermost.

No wonder that the beautiful face was seldom free from a tinge of

sadness; no wonder that her character had acquired a concentrativeness

and reserve beyond her short twenty years of life.

We said that it would have been better for her were she an orphan

indeed, and in saying this we are not exaggerating. Her uncle and aunt,

under whose care we first make her acquaintance, looked upon her almost

as their own child--would have been only too glad to have adopted her as

such, for they were childless. But her mother would not hear of this.

Alma was necessary as, figuratively speaking, a whipping-post for

Constance, the younger girl. She could not part with her altogether--

besides, she was useful in other ways. But the General and his wife

managed to have her with them as frequently as they could, and the

widow, who could not afford to quarrel with her brother-in-law, dared

not oppose his wishes in the matter beyond a certain point. So here was

Alma, with a prospect of two months to spend with her dearly-loved and

indulgent uncle and aunt; two months of easy travel and varying sojourn

among the fairest and most inspiring scenes that this world can show;

two months of unconventional life as near to perfect freedom as the

trammels of civilisation will allow; and above all, two months of

emancipation from home worries and suburban semi-detached pettinesses,

and the galling fetter of a show of "duty" towards those whom she could

neither love nor honour.

Standing there among the narcissus, gazing around upon the radiant

scenes spread in lustrous splendour about her, she made a wondrously

beautiful picture. Her eyes shone with a light of gladness, and the

normally calm regularity of the patrician features had given way to a

slight flush of eagerness which was infinitely winsome. But as her

glance suddenly met that of another the glad light vanished as by magic,

yielding place to a look of vexation, coldness, reserve. She had been

surprised in the midst of a rhapsody--taken off her guard.

But as though he read her thoughts, Philip Orlebar was not the man to

add to her discomfiture. He was thoroughbred, _aux bouts des ongles_,

and with all his lightheadedness and devil-may-care jollity, was endowed

with tact beyond the endowment of most Englishmen--_young_ Englishmen at

any rate.

"Good morning, Miss Wyatt," he said, snatching the pipe from between his

teeth. "Out among the narcissus already, I see. Just what I've been

doing myself--though, as a rule, flower gathering isn't much in my line.

I only pick up an extra fine blossom now and again as I stroll along,

which may account for the meagreness of my bunch," exhibiting a small

handful containing some dozen of stalks. "But you--you have got a grand

bouquet."

The unaffectedness of his address, the breezy lightheadedness of his

tone, was not without its influence even upon her. The gravity of her

reserve melted into a smile.

"They are so lovely," she answered; "I couldn't remain indoors a moment

longer."

"Just the state of the case with me. Surprising how great minds always

jump together. But to be serious, I believe the blossoms up above there

are larger than these. Some one or other in the hotel told me I ought

to go and look at them, and I did," added mendacious Phil. "That lazy

dog, Fordham, wouldn't move--planted himself at the end of a pipe in a

cane chair in one of those arbours. I couldn't stand that, so I started

a stroll in a small way. Let me carry those for you." And in a

twinkling he had possessed himself of the two huge bunches of narcissus

which she had gathered.

"Thanks. It's a shame to burden you, though. Isn't this a beautiful

place?"

"Rather. Old Fordham is enthusiastic about it, and I don't much wonder.

He knows it well, you see. I never was here before in my life, but now

I am here I'm in no hurry to move on. There are some grand walks and

first-rate climbs to be had. You were saying last night you were

looking forward to that sort of thing. I hope we shall be able to show

you the way about a little. We must make up a party for a climb

somewhere before this splendid weather changes. Fordham is worth any

round dozen of guides."

"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.