"They are a perfect pair of gentlemen!--and it is very kind of them to drive us!" Delaine laughed uneasily.
"The gradations here are bewildering--or rather the absence of gradations." "One gets down to the real thing," said Elizabeth, rather hotly.
Delaine laughed again, with a touch of bitterness.
"The real thing?
What kind of reality?
There are all sorts." Elizabeth was suddenly conscious of a soreness in his tone.

She tried to walk warily.
"I was only thinking," she protested, "of the chances a man gets in this country of showing what is in him." "Remember, too," said Delaine, with spirit, "the chances that he misses!" "The chances that belong only to the old countries?
I am rather bored with them!" said Elizabeth flippantly.
Delaine forced a smile.
"Poor Old World! I wonder if you will ever be fair to it again, or--or to the people bound up with it!" She looked at him, a little discomposed, and said, smiling: "Wait till you meet me next in Rome!" "Shall I ever meet you again in Rome ?" he replied, under his breath, as though involuntarily.
As he spoke he made a determined pause, a stone's throw from the rippling stream that marks the watershed; and Elizabeth must needs pause with him.

Beyond the stream, Philip sat lounging among rugs and cushions brought from the car, Anderson and the American beside him.

Anderson's fair, uncovered head and broad shoulders were strongly thrown out against the glistening snows of the background.

Upon the three typical figures--the frail English boy--the Canadian--the spare New Yorker--there shone an indescribable brilliance of light.