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His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. 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. “Prom committee does this, silly. Wild in my presence! He's the right-hand of the community! We could do nothing without him!" "We!" repeated Wood, significantly. He had gained admission somehow, and he too was waiting for Anna.
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