— Physical obstructions might be classed as those due first of all to weather conditions, and secondly to the intrinsic rock and snow difficulties of the mountains.
There are footfalls coming from the hallway. Ashley looks up and sees the young woman, the silhouette of her bobbed hair, the tiered skirt cut well above the ankle. He looks back at the map, but the girl comes up beside him and leans against the cabinet. She is close enough that he can hear her breathe.
— You’re not interested, the girl whispers, in the problem of oxygen?
Ashley turns to the girl, her face half lit above the green glass shade of the lamp. She has almond-shaped eyes and her hair is cut flush with her jawline. She looks down at the map of Tibet. Then she smiles at him and continues down the hallway. Ashley stays beside the cabinet, waiting to leave an interval between the girl’s return and his own. When Ashley goes back to his seat, Price eyes him with curiosity, but Ashley looks straight at the speaker.
— There is, however, one serious difficulty in connection with wind, namely, the low temperature sometimes met with. An intensely cold north or northeast wind might drive one down to avoid frostbite of hands and feet.
The operator drops a new slide. Another image of the pyramidal peak. It looms high above its sister mountains, the plume of vapor singing past.
— Mount Everest or Chomo Langmo, again, at twenty-nine thousand one hundred and forty-one feet. As the latter name was obtained by Colonel Bruce and myself from quite different sources, its claims may be worth consideration at a later date. A pass to the northeast of the mountain, about eighteen thousand five hundred feet high, leading to Kharta near the Arun River, is called Langma La. The mountain may be assailable from the northeast or north.
— While the limited scope of this paper hardly allows the deduction of categorical conclusions, it is highly probable from the data cited that a man in first-rate training, acclimatized to maximum possible altitude, could make the ascent of Mount Everest without adventitious aids, provided that the physical difficulties above twenty-five thousand feet are not prohibitive.
Kellas taps his notes into a neat stack against the lectern. He answers a question from a first lieutenant about the dangers of the sun’s rays at high altitude, then the president comes to the lectern to make a few concluding remarks. As the audience applauds, Price cups his hand over Ashley’s ear.
— Something interesting in the map room?
Ashley watches the two women rise. The short-haired girl dangles a large handbag from her elbow.
— Look here, Ashley says, see those women? Do you know them?
— I know the one on the left. I’ve met her husband, chap beside her. He’s in the Climbers’ Club. Think the wife is an artist. I hope she isn’t an interest of yours.
Ashley shakes his head. — It’s the other one. She’s not an interest, but I’ve seen her before.
— Jeanne d’Arc over there? Her I don’t know. But she’s damned pretty, in spite of the crop. Shall we meet them?
Price takes Ashley over and introduces him to the man in the group, a first lieutenant who shakes Ashley’s hand with a wry smile.
— Charles Grafton. This is my wife and her sister, Miss Soames-Andersson. Only for the Lord’s sake, don’t tell me you fellows are in on this Himalayan business too. Give me Lakeland hills any day of the week, no coolies, no bandobast—
Price and Grafton talk about climbing. Ashley’s eyes meet Eleanor’s and she smiles pleasantly, but her younger sister looks distracted, her attention straying to the image of the peak on the screen, to the other people talking around them. Ashley holds his cap under his arm and the badge catches Eleanor’s eye.
— I see you’re in the Artists Rifles, Eleanor says. Are you an artist?
— Only a pretender, I’m afraid. I was with the Artists for OTC, but they’re putting me with the another regiment when I go out.
Eleanor steps closer and lowers her voice.
— I hope you’re not going to France.
— On Thursday.
— How frightful. Do be careful.
— I’ll do my duty.
— Of course you will.
There is an awkward pause as the two sisters face Ashley, neither knowing what to say. Price is talking to Charles about the postimpressionists and he draws Eleanor into the conversation so that Ashley and Imogen are left alone. Imogen looks to the side and swings her handbag. She looks at Ashley.
— What did you make of the lecture? You seemed to prefer the map room.
Ashley shrugs. — The slides were rather impressive.
— Aren’t you interested in the Himalaya? You are a climber, aren’t you?
— Of sorts. But if you ask me, the lecture was a lot of bosh. They won’t know anything about climbing at those heights until someone actually does it. There must be some guinea pig. If they mean to climb Everest, that’s four thousand feet above what any man has done before. They haven’t the slightest notion what it would be like. It can’t be studied in a laboratory.
— You’d like to try?
Ashley grins, nodding toward Price. — Hugh would like to try.
— And you wouldn’t?
— I would too, Ashley admits. Though not so badly as Hugh, I expect. Are you interested in alpinism?
— I’m interested in everything. And I do find climbing intriguing, but Charles acts as if it’s the same as playing rugger, a bunch of fellows competing on a mountain. He’ll never tell us anything about it. So when he mentioned there was a lecture on the Himalaya, I insisted he bring us here—
— You wanted to come?
Imogen smiles. — Naturally. Though I can’t say I learned much, except that men always want to try the one thing they oughtn’t to. But everyone already knows that. From the sound of it, these fellows spend so much time worrying how they’ll climb a mountain that they never consider why they do it. Surely there’s more to climbing than just boasting rights? Perhaps you could explain it, Mr. Walsingham?
— I doubt it.
— I’d be grateful if you tried. Tell me, when a fellow climbs a mountain, is it the danger he loves?
Ashley grimaces. — God, no. It’s not so crass as that.
— The adventure then?
— Not at all. It isn’t so vulgar—
— The sport? The competition?
He shakes his head. — Certainly not.
— The mountains then? Or what they hold?
— That’s closer. But it’s not exactly that either.
— Then you don’t know what it is, Imogen hazards. It isn’t something one knows, but something one feels.
Ashley looks at the floor, the ceiling lamps reflecting bright on the waxed floorboards.
— Yes, he agrees. That’s right.
Imogen begins to rummage through her handbag. The slide operator has shut off the projector and is rolling up the long screen. Price is talking to Eleanor and Charles about Cézanne. Imogen takes a tattered handbill from the bag and gives it to Ashley.
— Here it is. I was given three of these on the street today. Imagine it, three people giving one the same handbill. So I thought I ought to give you one. You see, there’s a splendid matinee tomorrow at the Queen’s Hall. They’re performing Mozart’s twenty-third piano concerto, one of the ones he kept to himself. It’s very lovely. And there are fewer decent concerts every month.
Ashley thanks her and puts the leaflet in his pocket. He is about to speak when Charles announces that the trio is already late for an engagement. They say their good-byes hurriedly. Eleanor gives Ashley a sympathetic smile.
— Do be careful. Do come back safely.
Imogen touches Ashley’s hand as she passes.
— It’s only au revoir.