My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. 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. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. English a little! ‘You ought to have English only. ‘I might have killed you,’ she snapped, ‘if only you did not say anything.
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