set so prettily on the blue edge of Lake Leman; "I did not think I cared
for it at all; yet I leave it with a kind of home-leaving regret."

"That is because you found complete repose there, I imagine," said
Lynde. "Geneva is blessed among foreign cities in having no rich
picture-galleries, or famous cathedrals, or mouldy ruins covered all
over with moss and history. In other places, you know, one is distracted
by the things which it is one's imperative duty to see, and by the
feeling that a lifetime is too short properly to see them. Coming from
the great Italian cities to Geneva is like falling asleep after some
prolonged mental strain. I do not object to waking up and leaving it,
however. I should not mind leaving Eden, in pleasant company, on such a
morning as this."

"The company, and I dare say the morning, are not insensible to your
handsome compliment, Mr. Lynde."

The morning was without flaw, and the company, or at least that part of
it represented by Miss Ruth Denham, had more color in its cheeks than
usual, and its dark eyes looked very dark and melting under their long
fringes. Mrs. Denham was also of a high complexion, but, having a
practical turn of mind, she was wondering whether the trunks, which rose
like a monument from the footboard of the vehicle, were quite secure. It
was a lumbering, comfortable concern, with red and black wheels, and a
maroon body set upon complicated springs. The back seat, occupied by the
Denhams, was protected by a leather hood, leaving the forward portion of
the carriage open. The other seat was amicably shared between Lynde and
a pile of waterproofs and woollen wraps, essentials in Switzerland, but
which the ladies doubtless would have provided themselves if they had
been in the tropics. On the high box in front sat the driver, speaking