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used.
    “I wonder if there is anything between those two,” wondered Celia, as she took off her shoe s and h er dress and slipped underneath the enormous feather bed which served as an eiderdown, but before she had surmised anything about them, she had fallen asleep, and dreamed that she was crying copiously against Kurt St. Pierre’s shoulder.

 
    CHAPTER THREE
    A few days after the incident of the collis i on, Celia found herself free from after luncheon for the rest of the day. This was the first time since she had started her work, that she had had so long a period to herself, and she decided that she would first visit Dorothy and then go down the mountain and take the train into Interlaken. With this in mind, she wore her most attractive suit and a jaunty little hat, and carried bag and gloves; adopting a conventionality that she had discarded since her arrival.
    Dorothy greeted her with delight “Celia, you do look nice. Why are you dressed up?”
    “I’m going to Interlaken when I leave you; I have the rest of the day to myself, and it is time I saw something other than the Rotihorn and the rest centre and the road that connects them.”
    “We came through Interlaken.”
    “Yes, and saw the station; now I am going to see more.”
    “I hope you have a nice time. Now I have some good news for you, Celia. I am going to get up all day.”
    “Good for you, Dodo.”
    “Or what they call all day. From after breakfast until five o’clock. Unless my temperature goes up. But it’s been very good lately—look at my chart . ”
    Celia looked at the chart .
    “It’s a beautiful temperature,” she said admiringly. “ It used to look like the mountains of Switzerland—now, it’s only the foothills.”
    Dorothy laughed delightedly.
    “When it looks like East Anglia,” said Celia, “ we ’ll be getting you out of here.”
    “Is East Anglia flat?” asked Dorothy.
    Celia looked at her reproachfully.
    “In the morning,” said Dorothy. “I can sit on the terrace, and in the afternoon, I can walk on the plateau. Later on, they will let me walk on the mountain. There are lots of walks, you know, with different numbers, and at first you can only do number one, and then come back again—that is a very short walk; then you can do one and two; and later when you are better, more and more. Soon I will be doing number one.”
    “That is fine. Perhaps, sometimes, I will be able to do them with you.”
    “Irmgard is going to let me do sewing now. Could you bring me something to sew, Celia? There is a woman here who does lovely tapestry and she says she will teach me. Could you bring me some canvas, Celia, and some wool?”
    “Yes. I’ll get them in Interlaken for you.”
    They talked a little longer, and then Celia left Dorothy, and began her walk down the moun tain . She felt very encouraged by the progress that Dorothy was making. Not only her health, for that was problematical until some test had been made of it; but also in her spiritual recovery. In spite of her illness, she had more life and more enthusiasm now than Celia had ever seen in her. Celia felt a deep gratitude to Irmgard, who was Dorothy’s favorite nurse, and to Dr. Sturm, who gave encouragement and interest with all his treatments.
    She passed the point where the workmen were beginning on Geoffrey Crindle’s chalet, and later she passed the Rotihorn , and went on her way to the village. The sun was shining, the air was clear, and youth and vitality were in her step.
    She heard a car overtaking her. She drew into the side of the narrow road to allow it to pass. It drew level with her—a long and gleaming car, built for speed—and slowed down.
    "Can I give you a lift?” asked Kurt St Pierre.
    She hesitated. His eyes went swiftly over her, taking in the well-cut suit, the jaunty hat, the tastefully chosen accessories.
    “If you are going to the village,” she said. “ Thank you.”
    He opened the door for her, and she joined him on the front