They became aware of the waitress standing over them with book and pencil ready for their bill. " "By my soul, no," replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. In this moment he could have stamped upon the Wastrel's face, and ended the affair; but all that was clean in him, chivalrous, revolted at the thought. He watched her, savoring her curious attention.
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