Gerald’s gaze bored into hers. 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. ‘I’m determined to find out all about you, mademoiselle. But it wasn’t the harassment that bothered her. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. “I am sure you will marry Nigel sooner or later, and then all your work will be thrown away. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods.
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