” “Poor old ring!” said Ann Veronica. There was no railway beyond Frutigen in those days; they sent their baggage by post to Kandersteg, and walked along the mule path to the left of the stream to that queer hollow among the precipices, Blau See, where the petrifying branches of trees lie in the blue deeps of an icy lake, and pine-trees clamber among gigantic boulders. She would never, never go back. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. They showered together. Water soaked her through in five minutes.
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