They lay side by side in a shallow nest of turf and mosses among
bowlders and stunted bushes on a high rock, and watched the day sky
deepen to evening between the vast precipices overhead and looked over
the tree-tops down the widening gorge. A distant suggestion of chalets
and a glimpse of the road set them talking for a time of the world they
had left behind.
Capes spoke casually of their plans for work. “It’s a flabby,
loose-willed world we have to face. It won’t even know whether to be
scandalized at us or forgiving. It will hold aloof, a little undecided
whether to pelt or not--”
“That depends whether we carry ourselves as though we expected pelting,”
said Ann Veronica.
“We won’t.”
“No fear!”
“Then, as we succeed, it will begin to sidle back to us. It will do its
best to overlook things--”
“If we let it, poor dear.”
“That’s if we succeed. If we fail,” said Capes, “then--”
“We aren’t going to fail,” said Ann Veronica.
Life seemed a very brave and glorious enterprise to Ann Veronica that
day. She was quivering with the sense of Capes at her side and glowing
with heroic love; it seemed to her that if they put their hands jointly
against the Alps and pushed they would be able to push them aside. She
lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron.
“FAIL!” she said.