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The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again. Selfishness. “Idiotic, isn’t it?” “Absolutely,” she agreed coldly. There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. About two weeks ago. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?. ” “And what do you think I ought to do?” “Exactly!” He lifted a paper-weight and dabbed it gently down again.
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