Meanwhile the guttural German cries announced the departure for the Engadine, and the crowd thronged at the doors, carrying characteristic hand luggage; tennis-rackets in their coverings, travelling-cloaks, sticks with chamois-horn handles and iron-spiked tips, and leather cases with golf-clubs.
As they clambered up, from short skirts the ladies disclosed dainty feet, shod some of them as if they were to walk through the boulevards of Paris, and others as if they must immediately climb the Bernina. Mabel Clarke and her mother, followed step by step, like a shadow, by Mrs. Broughton, approached without undue hurry the large compartment which they had reserved. A railway official advanced, as if searching amidst the crowd, with a yellow envelope in his hands.
At once Mrs. Clarke summoned him.
"A telegram for Clarke?"
"Ja," said the man, offering the envelope.
Mrs. Clarke read her telegram quietly.
Mabel in a whisper asked:
"Papa! all right?"
"All right."
Loudly the German voices of the railway officials resounded.