"Do you not believe, then, that a man is as old as his capacities?"
The parson beamed beneath his glasses—she certainly was a delightful woman to travel with, and he had yet to learn her name.
"I believe in thinking of pleasant things," he said, "old age is pleasant enough if you forget it. And we all become young here; the air inspires us—I think it makes us quite mad sometimes. Then the scenery is so beautiful, so very, very beautiful. Look at those peaks—how the sun shines upon them! And I have wasted one whole week in London when I might have been here. Deplorable! That week has gone forever—"
She liked his enthusiasm, yet could not forbear to intrude upon it.
"But I hear of blizzards," she exclaimed. "Whatever do you do at Andana when there is a blizzard?"
"We grumble and are happy. Snow is as necessary to us here as water to the Arab of the desert. We are thankful to see the snow falling, and we go into our corners and play bridge. I suppose you will join us there? I felt sure you played bridge directly I saw you."
She laughed, showing him how white were her teeth, and how deeply the blue of her eyes contrasted with the azure of the cloudless sky.
"Oh," she said, "one has to do the necessary things. But I am a dreadful player, and the old ladies get very angry with me. I should never have the courage to play with strangers—"
He hastened to correct her.
"No one is a stranger here. That is the best of it. In a way, we are all friends—though, of course, there are people we like better than others."