His voice propelled her to cry even harder, so hard that she began to laugh behind her tears. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense. And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do. ‘But to do only what one wishes, it is not always convenient. Is there?” “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, with a radiant face.
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