Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Presently she woke up to the fact that there was a considerable group of interests called being in love and getting married, with certain attractive and amusing subsidiary developments, such as flirtation and “being interested” in people of the opposite sex. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. “You look nice today, Lucy. She could not help but swoon a little. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. It had been easy to steal. The Wastrel did not relish this. The afternoon had passed now into twilight.
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