t knocking at the door. With great slowness the
door opened and a tall human being came towards her, holding out her arm
and saying:

"What am I to say to this?"

The utter absurdity of a woman coming into a room with a piece of paper
in her hand amazed Rachel.

"I don't know what to answer, or who Terence Hewet is," Helen continued,
in the toneless voice of a ghost. She put a paper before Rachel on which
were written the incredible words:

DEAR MRS. AMBROSE--I am getting up a picnic for next Friday, when we
propose to start at eleven-thirty if the weather is fine, and to make
the ascent of Monte Rosa. It will take some time, but the view should
be magnificent. It would give me great pleasure if you and Miss Vinrace
would consent to be of the party.--

Yours sincerely, TERENCE HEWET

Rachel read the words aloud to make herself believe in them. For the
same reason she put her hand on Helen's shoulder.

"Books--books--books," said Helen, in her absent-minded way. "More new
books--I wonder what you find in them. . . ."

For the second time Rachel read the letter, but to herself. This
time, instead of seeming vague as ghosts, each word was astonishingly
prominent; they came out as the tops of mountains come through a mist.
_Friday_--_eleven-thirty_--_Miss_ _Vinrace_. The blood began to run in
her veins; she felt her eyes brighten.

"We must go," she said, rather surprising Helen by her decision. "We
must certainly go"--such was the relief of finding that things still
happened, and indeed they appeared the brighter for the mist surrounding
them.

"Monte Rosa--that's the mountain over there, isn't it?" said Helen; "but
Hewet--who's he? One of the young men Ridley met, I suppose. Shall I say
yes, then? It may be dreadfully dull."

She took the letter back and went, for the messenger was waiting for her
answer.

The party which had been suggested a few nights ago in Mr. Hirst's
bedroom had taken shape and was the source of great satisfaction to Mr.
Hewet, who had seldom used his practical abilities, and was pleased
to find them equal to the strain. His invitations had been universally
accepted, which was the more encouraging as they had been issued against
Hirst's advice to people who were very dull, not at all suited to each
other, and sure not to come.

"Undoubtedly," he said, as he twirled and untwirled a note signed Helen
Ambrose, "the gifts needed to make a great commander have been absurdly
overrated