He had brought her here to this place—where her freedom was curtailed even more than at the convent so that a cavalier was very much needed—and only on Monday came again. 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. Twice she smiled, but not unkindly. “Yes. For a time she furnished the flat. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. She described the Goopes and the Fabians to him, and gave him a sketch of her landlady; and he talked in the most liberal and entertaining way of a modern young woman’s outlook. What can she have done to deserve such a fate? Oh!” They both turned round at Anna’s exclamation.
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