She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. She was in a very uncritical state that afternoon. It was a letter. She made an abrupt personal appeal. . “You come into these sordid surroundings—you mustn’t mind my calling them sordid—and it makes them seem as though they didn’t matter. "With pleasure, Sir," replied Edgeworth Bess. ‘Only perhaps I can more readily do so if you will put down that pistol. I asked him—to take me away. 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. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. “Of course he may merely have been telling her who we were, but I think it improbable. ‘Can’t see a thing. “I am afraid that you are making a mistake,” she said. .
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