"Say! what's the matter with a little day's run up to Chillon?
Phenie is game for anything! You just get that other English Lord
and we will dodge Popper and Mommer."

"I am sorry to say that my friend has left suddenly, bound for
London," laughed the Major, gazing admiringly at this pretty feminine
Bonnivard.

"That's awful bad luck!" gloomily remarked Miss Genie. "He was a
regular dandy, and I liked him--but," she said, with a thirsty peck
at a glass of champagne, as they waited for the breakfast, "Phenie
will then have to give that long-legged Italian fellow the tip. The
Marquis of Santa Marina! He's not much, but better than nothing at
all. We'll have a jolly day!"

Major Hawke was mystified at the daring personal independence of
the sprightly young heiress. She was a social revelation to him,
and the sunny afternoon was not altogether thrown away, for they
carelessly rambled over the proud old town together, doing all
the sights. They visited the stately National Monument, the Jardin
Anglais, the Hotel de Ville, the Arsenal, the Muse'e Foy, the
Botanic Gardens, and the Athende. He gazed upon the fresh face of
the rebellious young American social mutineer with an increasing
wonder as they wandered alone on the Promenade des Bastions, and
was simply astounded when he vainly tried to take advantage of a
shady corner in the Musee Ariana to steal a kiss from the wayward
girl's rosy lips. Miss Genie "formed herself into a hollow square"
and calmly, but energetically, repulsed him.

"See here! Major Hawke!" she coolly said, "get off the perch! I