The excitement which had buoyed her up had passed; and her hopes had passed with it.

She recalled the high anticipations with which she had set out from Chamonix only yesterday--yes, only yesterday.

And against them in a vivid contrast she set the actual reality, the supper party, Red-hot Barstow, Archie Parminter, and the poor witless Wallie Hine, with his twang and his silly boasts.

She began to wonder whether there was any other world than that which she knew, any other people than those with whom she had lived.

Her father was different--yes, but--but--Her father was too perplexing a problem to her at this moment.