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. "Take off the ruffles, Blueskin," rejoined Wild. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. I'm not interested in him. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. She was for ever scanning luggage and finding her way about the world, via these miniature pictures.
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