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. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. Not since she had discovered it had Ruth touched or opened the mission Bible; but to-night (the same upon which the wonderful manuscripts started on their long and circuitous voyage to America) she was inexplicably drawn to it. For a moment she remained silent. His brain reeled. The thought made her exquisitely happy. But if you mean to take me to this Gérard, I shall know what to say to him.
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