"You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. “They are coming past our table. But if I escape, my gratitude—" "Pshaw!" interrupted Jonathan, scornfully. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. 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. “I’m very shy, and I would like to opt out if you don’t mind. "I must go.
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