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was not coming back?
    Suddenly the mystery of it was all too much for Alice. She was aware that she was ravenously hungry and that there was nothing in the house to eat. She would go across to Dundas Hill’s and borrow some bread or invite herself to breakfast.
    ‘I’ll be back soon,’ she said gaily to the cat and the bird. (The cottage in the wood, with its two small inhabitants, was like something out of Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Was there an ogre, too?) Webster hopped after her to the gate, flapping his clipped wings and saying in his small rapid voice, ‘Go away quick! Quick!’
    ‘Phooey to you!’ said Alice. ‘You old misery.’
    She walked quickly down the road, admiring the tall trees arching over the everlasting creeping ferns, listening for the clear beautiful notes of the black tui and the small shy bell-bird.
    Round the bend of the road she came on a sign which read ‘Dundas Hill. Climbing equipment and photography.’ A long drive bordered on either side by masses of dahlias, drooping and shaggy from the rain, led to a tall old house set back among shiny-leaved ngaio trees and giant tree ferns. One of the large front windows of the house was made into a shop front, and as Alice drew nearer she saw that it contained skis, climbing boots and alpenstocks in the window, also a very fine display of photographs of the glacier and various snowpeaks.
    In the distance, beyond the bush, she could catch a glimpse of a green valley ringed with mountain peaks, and the long rambling glacier hotel and surrounding buildings.
    So the isolation she had felt in the rain last night had not been genuine. She was within a quarter of a mile of the rest of the tiny mountain settlement.
    The discovery greatly increased Alice’s confidence. She went past the bright shock-headed ranks of dahhas up to Dundas Hill’s front door and rang the bell.
    Dundas himself opened the door. He looked as if he were just dressed, his cheeks bright from shaving, his stiff straight grey hair on end. There were slight pouches under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept, and his eyes themselves looked strangely colourless like a cat’s in bright sunlight. His short figure was inclined to stoutness. He gave an impression of common sense and kindness and utter dependability. Only his eyes were puzzling and set him apart from ordinariness.
    ‘Good morning, Miss Ashton,’ he said warmly. ‘I was just going to come over and see how you had survived the night.’
    Alice saw no point in telling him of her imaginary fears. ‘I survived it very well, thank you. I’ve come to see if I can borrow some bread. And can you tell me where one does one’s shopping here?’
    ‘There’s a store near the hotel. But you’re going to have breakfast with us, of course. My daughter is getting it. Margaretta!’
    ‘Yes,’ a rather sulky voice answered from somewhere within.
    ‘Come in,’ Dundas said to Alice, smiling with his pleased kindness.
    She followed him down a long hall to a room where a girl of about seventeen in a shabby dress that was too small for her was setting the table for breakfast. The girl turned at their entrance and Alice saw Dundas’s light-coloured eyes in a heavy sullen face. She was well developed for her age, with a square body like her father’s. Her breasts strained against the cotton material of the outgrown frock.
    ‘Margaretta,’ Dundas said, ‘this is Miss Alice Ashton, a friend of Camilla’s. This is my daughter, Miss Ashton.’
    Margaretta muttered something in reply to Alice’s friendly greeting and began to walk out of the room.
    ‘Miss Ashton is having breakfast with us,’ Dundas told her, as if unaware of the girl’s discourtesy. ‘Set another place.’
    The girl nodded and disappeared. Alice looked round the room. It contained an extraordinary conglomeration of stuff. There was far too much heavy dark furniture. One wall was entirely covered with miniatures in elaborate gilt frames. Various small tables held Satsuma