That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her. She never had been much of a looker, but she had stopped worrying about such things long ago. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. Besides, it was under false pretences. The man asked twelve guineas, but after a little bargaining, he came down to ten.
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