At Boulogne they took train to Basle; next morning they breakfasted together in the buffet of that station, and thence they caught the Interlaken express, and so went by way of Spies to Frutigen. She knew the truth of it all right. The curtain came festooning slowly down, the music ceased, the lights in the auditorium glowed out, and Ann Veronica woke out of her confused dream of involuntary and commanding love in a glory of sound and colors to discover that Ramage was sitting close beside her with one hand resting lightly on her waist. He stopped short of a group of adolescent saplings and turned the ignition off. “I am going,” she said grimly, with three hairpins in her mouth. Unobserved, she knelt and kissed the threshold: for she knew what kisses were now.
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