CHAPTER XXXI. Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. “One day,” he resumed, “we will start off early and come down into Kandersteg and up these zigzags and here and here, and so past this Daubensee to a tiny inn—it won’t be busy yet, though; we may get it all to ourselves—on the brim of the steepest zigzag you can imagine, thousands of feet of zigzag; and you will sit and eat lunch with me and look out across the Rhone Valley and over blue distances beyond blue distances to the Matterhorn and Monte Rosa and a long regiment of sunny, snowy mountains. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. If I told you the facts, I expect, since you are in love with me, you’d explain the whole business as being very fine and honorable for me—the Higher Morality, or something of that sort. “Miss Pellissier is nothing to me except a young lady for whom I have the most profound and respectful admiration. ” “I’m afraid it can’t. Then perhaps it is Prudence?’ ‘Oh la la! That is not me at all.
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