he came face to face with her, perhaps it would be best to give a
cold bow of formal recognition--the kind of bow that says "Good morning.
I'm busy. You're not wanted."

And yet, there was news for him in her possession of which he ought to
be informed. It was only fair to the man who had defended her at
considerable personal risk that she should do him this small service in
return. In her pocket was a cutting of an advertisement in a Parisian
paper, several days old, asking for the whereabouts of John Riviere.
Very possibly he had not seen it himself. It was only fair to let him
know of it. The stitches in his forehead, which she had noted as she
hurried past--these called mutely for the small service in return.

Elaine decided to wait until he recognized her, to give him the
advertisement, and then to conclude their acquaintanceship with a few
formal words of which the meaning would be unmistakable. Accordingly she
set her campstool not far away from him, and began her sketching in a
vigorous, characteristic fashion.

It was an hour or more before her intuition warned her that Riviere was
approaching from behind. As he passed, she raised her eyes quite
naturally as though to look at the subject she was finishing. Their eyes
met. Riviere raised his hat politely but without any special
significance. His attitude conveyed no desire to renew their
acquaintance. He did not stop to exchange a few words, as she expected.

Elaine was hurt. She felt that he should at least have given her the
opportunity to refuse acquaintanceship. And a sudden resolve fired up
within her to humble this man of ice--to melt him, and bring him to her
feet, and then to dismiss him.

"Mr Riviere," she called.

He stopped, and answered with a formal "Good morning."

"I have something for you--some news."

"Yes?"

"Do you know that your friends are getting anxious about you?"

Riviere's attention concentrated. "Which friends?" he asked.

"I don't know which friends. But there's an advertisement in a Paris
paper asking for your whereabouts."

"Thank you for letting me know. What does it say?"

She produced the cutting and handed it to him. He studied it in silence.
There was no hint in its wording as to who was making inquiry--the
advertisement merely asked for replies to be sent to a box number care
of the journal. It struck Riviere that it must have been inserted by
Olive.

"Thank you," he said. "I hadn't seen it before."

"I'm g