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. They thought that she was her own mother. ‘Melusine was making herself mistress of them when we met. All four people moved a little nervously into the drawing-room, maintaining a sort of fluttered amiability of sound and movement. To Ruth the thought of Hartford no longer projected upon her vision a city of spires and houses and tree-lined streets. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. But as the mystery which surrounded Ruth fell away that which enveloped her father thickened.
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