"I—don't know. Did I slip?"
"What made you?"
She tried to withdraw her hand, but he kept a firm grip, led her to the edge, and bade her look over. Where they stood, it seemed that nothing lay between them and the level of the Rhone Valley, thousands of feet below. From the contemplation of that sheer depth, her eyes sought his.
"I see! I—had forgotten. And you—you saved me." She gave a shudder. "How quick you were! I can't thank you. It has given you rather a fright."
Rather a fright! He drew her to a safe distance, made her sit down, and did the same himself—his face still as white as chalk. She submitted in bewildered silence, conscious that her escapade was being commented on by two or three strangers present, though no one ventured to accost the pair.
As she sat by his side, it dawned upon her what her death would have meant to Maurice, had she been thus, in one moment, swept out of his life. Then, reverting to what had gone before, she felt a great wave of pity for him. She could see that he was unnerved, shaken, hardly able to hold himself together. If things were as he said, it was not his fault. He could not be blamed for his parentage.
"But I ought to have known sooner," she said to herself.
Maurice at length broke the silence.
"Was it—what I said? Did that startle you?"
Her reply was indistinct.