Gianfrancesco stumbled belatedly onto the beach, his feet padding wet sand. 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. ‘You said—who?’ ‘Remenham. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. What the devil is her name, now we know she isn’t you?’ ‘Yolande,’ supplied Melusine. On Monday Charvill had still not returned, and the major duly presented himself at Mrs Chalkney’s house in Grosvenor Square, thanking his stars that his friend Roding would not be there to spoil sport.
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