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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. In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. She wrapped a leg around him. Tum, tum, tirray, tum, tum, tum, te-tum—that thing of Mendelssohn’s! If making one human being absolutely happy is any satisfaction to you—” He held out his hands, and she also stood up. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. I was mean to him. Hawk and Buzzard. ‘I can’t help but be sure,’ he returned shortly.

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