It never is. ’ The dimple that so fascinated Melusine peeped in her great-aunt’s cheek. Some one was standing beside him. And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do. “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it.
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