“I don’t see why not,” he answered. “My friends,” she said, “my dear friends, I am going to make the same answer to all of you—and that is perhaps you will say no answer at all. “Martin, you realize that I’m dating someone, don’t you?” She knew his reply before he uttered it. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. 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. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill.
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