“NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether. He was going to tell me something— and he shut up. Sit down, I command you. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect. 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.
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