Pietro laughed softly. "A woman always fears her lover," he said. "That is just the reason why you married Caterina. You liked her for her shyness. It made you feel yourself a man--a devil of a fellow. Don't you remember how timid she was, how she tried to avoid you, how she would dodge into anybody's chalet rather than meet you?" "But how do you know?" demanded Bartelommeo, waking into resentful appreciation of Pietro's close acquaintance with his wooing. "Because I married Lola two years earlier. Women are all the same, no matter what country they hail from--nervous as young chamois before marriage--but after! Body of Bacchus! Was it on Wednesday that Caterina hauled you out of the albergo to chop firewood?" Bartelommeo grunted, and put his pipe in his mouth again. CHAPTER XVII THE SETTLEMENT Though Helen was the better linguist, it was left to Spencer to explain that circumstances would prevent the lady from going to Malenco that day. He did not fully understand why the men should exchange glances of darksome intelligence when he made this statement. He fancied they were disappointed at losing a good customer; so he went on brokenly: "You are in no hurry, eh? Well, then, take us across the glacier to the Aguagliouls. We should obtain a fine view from the summit, and get back to the hotel for luncheon. I will pay the same rates as for the Sella." Both guides were manifestly pleased. Pietro began a voluble recital of the glories that would meet their enraptured gaze from the top of the mighty rock. "You will see the Bernina splendidly," he cried, "and Roseg too, and the Glueschaint and Il Chapuetschin. If the lady will trust to us, we can bring her down the Tschierva glacier safely. You are a climber, _signor_, else you could never have crossed the Ota before dawn. But let us make another cup of coffee. The middle Roseg ice is safe at any hour, and if we are on the rock by nine o'clock that will be perfect for the sun." Already a grand panorama of glaciers and peaks was unfolding itself. A cloudless sky promised a lovely August day, and what that means in the high Alps the mountaineer alone can tell. But Spencer turned his back on the outer glory. He had eyes only for Helen, while she, looking mistily at the giant rock across the valley, saw it not at all, for she was peering into her own soul, and found the prospect dazzling in its pure delight.