"I say, Nellie, I wish you'd do that every day. Now, don't get angry—you know you rather like it."
She sat up and tried to push him from her.
"Whatever do you mean, Bob? It was your fault; you pushed me down."
"Of course I did. Let's lie here a month, just as we are—only I should like your arms a little closer round my neck. Never mind about your skis—I'll take them off."
He was as good as his word, unbuckling the straps and regretted that the monstrous boots forbade him to admire her pretty ankles. When he had removed his own impedimenta, he coolly put his arms about her waist, and lifted her from the deep snow.
"Let's sit down a bit and talk over things," he said. "There's a grand view from here, Nellie—I could see Brigue, if it wasn't for the cloud."
"Do you want to see Brigue, Bob?"
"Do I want to see Brigue?—when I can look at you! I say, Nellie, how silky your hair is—and I do believe your lips are cold. Well, that ought to warm them anyway! Shall I do it again? I will if you like!"
She shook her head; but her colour was high, and her heart beat fast.
"Why do you treat me like this, Bob?"