Children of clergy -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Mountaineering -- Fiction; Mystery fiction
So he made his request, and explained that no risks would be run.
A magnificent view could be gained at small cost. The summit stood
some 7600 feet above the sea-level; yet to get there meant a mere
walk, with no real climbing; a walk which any lady might venture
to take. Any robust lady, he hastened to add, as he perceived dawning
recollections of past gazelle-like agility. He did not wish Mrs. Brutt
to forth a third in the expedition; and he knew that she dreaded
nothing more than to be counted "robust."
After some fuss, leave was granted. Mrs. Brutt had her doubts whether
Mrs. Winton would approve of the plan—just Doris and Mr. Maurice going
together! She might have been perfectly sure that Doris's mother would
very much disapprove. But since her dear young doctor thought it
right, she could not refuse. And really girls nowadays did that sort
of thing. Nobody thought anything of it.
She had not the resolution to oppose him; and she honestly believed
that his "kindness" to Doris was wholly for her sake. He was really
so agreeable, she said to one of her English-speaking German cronies;
so charmingly "domesticated." This was another of her misused
adjectives, which might give the impression of a man of the "tame-cat"
order. Dick Maurice was not that. But it satisfied her; and she was
delighted with his attentions to herself.
So the expedition was arranged.
No need this time for axes and goggles. And they started between six
and seven, instead of between two and three.
Much of their way was a rough sledge-path through pine-woods, where
footing might take care of itself; and they talked without a break.
Well as they felt that they had known one another before, mutual
knowledge that day advanced by strides. No third person was present
to act as a drag.
Somehow, Doris had told him much more about herself than he had told
her about himself, up to this date.
He could talk with enthusiasm of his profession, his work, his
friends, his aims and objects, the books he had read, the places he
had seen, the mountains he had climbed. And that was all right enough.
But from the first he had said little about his home. She knew that
his work lay in Edinburgh. She did not know whether his home was
there; and, though aware that his mother lived, she knew nothing more
about his family. Sometimes she had caught herself wondering over this
persistent silence.
Through the long early morning walk, he still said nothing; but she
had a curious sense that he wanted to say something. There were
occasional slight breaks and pauses, when his attention seemed adrift,
his mind preoccupied.
They had a second breakfast at Bretaye, in the small open restaurant,
with a fine distant view of Mont Blanc. Then they mounted the only
steep place which had to be climbed; a mere nothing, after recent
experiences.
On the summit, a lofty headland, they found themselves at the centre
of a splendid panorama.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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