They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. Ann Veronica was overcome by this amount of emotion. He was certain that those lips of hers had never known the natural and pardonable simper of youth. "Put about, waterman, for God's sake!" cried Wood, whose humanity got the better of every personal consideration; "some one is overboard. She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love.
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