Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. Ann Veronica stared for a moment in amazement at this dark-green object that clashed as it was put down. . And all to satisfy a succession of rapacious lightskirts. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question. She wrote it down. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. " "But, man, this chap hasn't fallen soft. ’ ‘It’s immaterial, in any event,’ Roding put in. Your history, your actions, nay, your very thoughts are better known to me than to your spiritual adviser. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel.
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