After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side. Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. ’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. “You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. Almost the best of all. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder.
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