“Yes, he did.  He carried one end of your stretcher all the way to the Springs.”  Then Elizabeth asked:  “Don’t you remember the baby, either?  He had brown eyes.”

“I seem to remember a child,” she answered slowly, “a baby sitting in the firelight, but”—­and she shook her head, “I’ve dreamed so many dreams.”

“He was a fact; a perfect dear.  I should have adopted him, if his relatives hadn’t been so prominent and rich.  And you, too, fell instantly in love with him.  You wanted him in your arms the moment you opened your eyes.”

Elizabeth paused with a straight look from under her heavy brows and while she hesitated there was a knock at the door.  She threw it open and a porter brought in one of those showy Japanese shrubs in an ornate jardiniere, such as Frederic Morganstein so often used as an expression of his regard.  His card hung by a ribbon from a branch, like a present on a Christmas tree, and when the boy had gone, she untied it and carried it to Mrs. Weatherbee.  “I wish you could marry Frederic and settle it all,” she said.  “Japan is lovely in the spring.”

Beatriz, who had taken the card indifferently, allowed it to drop without reading it.  Her glance rested again on the shining dome.

“I told him I would ask you to see him a few moments to-night,” Elizabeth resumed.  “He is feeling miserably.  He says he was ill when we made the ascent that day and never should have left the hotel; his high temperature and the altitude affected his head.  He believes he must have said things that offended or frightened you—­things he wasn’t responsible for.”  She paused, then, for a woman who had been so schooled to hold herself in hand as Elizabeth Morganstein, went on uncertainly:  “He is just a plain business man, used to going straight to a point, but not many men care so much for a woman as he does for you.  You could mold him like wax.  He says all he wants now—­if he did make a mistake—­is a chance to wipe it out; start with a clean slate.”

Mrs. Weatherbee rose from the couch.  She stood a moment meeting Elizabeth’s earnest look.  The shadow of a smile touched her mouth, but well-springs of affection brimmed her eyes.  “We cannot wipe out our mistakes, dear,” she said.  “They are indelible.  We have to accept them, study them, use them as a rule from which to work out the problems of our lives.  There is no going back, no starting over, if we have missed an easier way.  Elizabeth, in one hour on that mountain I saw more of the true Frederic Morganstein than in all the years I had known him before.  In the great moments of life, I should have no influence with him.  Even for your sake, dear, I could not marry him.  I do not want to see him any more.”

There was a silence, then Elizabeth said:  “In that case, I am going to ease things for you.  I am going to buy that desert land.  Now, don’t say a word.  I am going to pay you Lucky Banks’ price, and, of course, for the improvements whatever is right.”