A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. Sanguine they were not. Nothing could exceed the dismay of these personages when they learnt why they had been summoned. But that, and that sort of thing, is just a day-dream. “Hold on. Mr. If I had known that you had meant to talk like this I wouldn’t have come here. " The spinsters had no counter-philosophy to offer; so they turned to Ruth, who had singularly and unconsciously invested herself with glamour, the glamour of adventure, which the old maids did not recognize as such because they were only tourists.
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