“Not at all, not at all,” answered the doctor, rising hastily from the motor and going in with Kathleen.
“Oh, Larry,” breathed Jane in a rapture of delight, “isn't she lovely, isn't she lovely? I had no idea she was so perfectly lovely.” Not the moon, nor the glory of the landscape with all its wonder of plain and valley and mountain peak had been able to awaken Jane to ecstasy, but the rare loveliness of this girl, her beauty, her sweet simplicity, had kindled Jane to enthusiasm.
“Well, Jane, you are funny,” said Larry. “You rave and go wild over Kathleen, and yet you keep quite cool over that most wonderful view.”
“View!” said Jane contemptuously. “No, wait, Larry, let me explain. I do think it all very wonderful, but I love people. People after all are better than mountains, and they are more wonderful too.”
“Are they?” said Larry dubiously. “Not so lovely, sometimes.”
“Some people,” insisted Jane, “are more wonderful than all the Rocky Mountains together. Look at Kathleen,” she cried triumphantly. “You could not love that old mountain there, could you? But, Kathleen—”
“Don't know about that,” said Larry. “Dear old thing.”
“Tell me how Mr. Romayne was hurt,” said Jane, changing the subject.
In graphic language Nora gave her the story of the accident with all the picturesque details, recounting Kathleen's part in it with appropriate emotional thrills. Jane listened with eyes growing wider with each horrifying elaboration.
“Do you think his arm will ever be all right?” she inquired anxiously.