But never mind that," said McClintock grinning as he drew the dish of bread-fruit toward him. 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. "I sha'n't offer any of these to you two," he said; "but I know you won't mind me having an imitation king's peg. I thank God for the very skin that is peeling from your nose, for all things great and small that make us what we are.
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