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. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. Here he obtained some breakfast, and mounting the hill turned off into the fields on the right. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. “You have the temperament,” he said. Come on. "There he is!" "I fear not," said her father, with a doubtful shake of the head. I am sure.
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