He had invited himself to dine with her merely to watch her table manners. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. “You cannot seriously believe,” he said, “that at the present moment I care a snap of the fingers whether I have any dinner or not. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. But, when? When do they go?’ ‘Today, miss. ‘But we—mon mari and myself—we have the bonne chance. “All these days I have taken her for you.
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