Wood scarcely knew where he was. 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. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. Michelle’s eyes darted around, she refused to look straight at Lucy. ‘But you said—’ Gerald tutted. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good.
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