He then removed the monocle, and suddenly resumed his habitually suave manner. Picking up a binocle, which lay on the table, he turned to look toward Mt. Hood—“Sublime!” he exclaimed.
“It is very beautiful and white today,” remarked Constance.
“Indeed,” assured Rutley, “it seems close enough to touch with my outstretched hand.”
“My lord’s arm would need to be thirty miles long,” smiled Mrs. Thorpe, who was then ascending the steps.
“A long reach,” responded Rutley, lowering the glass.
“The illusion is due to our clear atmosphere,” replied Mrs. Thorpe.
“I presume so,” agreed Rutley.
“At times the air is phenomenally clear. One day this past Summer I fancied I could make out the ‘Mazamas,’ who were then ascending the mountain,” quietly remarked Virginia.
“Aw, indeed, very likely; quite so,” continued Rutley, handing the glass to Constance, and then turning to Virginia with an alluring smile, added: “And then, the ladies—are so bewitchingly entertaining.”
“Presumably your idea of American girls has suggested the art of flattery.”