‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped. A neat tale, giving little away. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. If I am to die in the attempt, then so be it. She met his eye for a moment in curious surprise. I wanted you to know. 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.
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