"Yes. You know it, don't you?"
"I've been there"--briefly.
"I had the adventure of my life there," volunteered Tony. "I've never
forgotten it, by Jove! Up at a place called the Dents de Loup."
Had he been looking he would have seen a sudden smouldering fire wake in
the keen grey eyes of the man beside him. But he was occupied in lighting
a cigarette at the moment, and, failing to observe the change in Eliot's
expression, he pursued reminiscently:
"Yes. I was up there with a girl I'd known ever since I was a kid--we'd
almost been brought up together. And the first thing I did was to go and
skid down the side of a ravine." He puffed futilely at his cigarette.
"Blow! It's gone out."
He paused to relight it, while Eliot sat rigidly still, waiting in tense
silence for the rest of the story. It all came out quite naturally and with
a blissful unconsciousness on Tony's part that the tale could have any
particular significance for the man beside him.
"She was the pluckiest girl I know," he wound up loyally. "Took it like
a real sport and never blamed me in the least. Most women would have
clamoured for my blood."
"Yes. I think they would." Eliot replied quite mechanically.
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