I willingly take my hat off to brave little Switzerland, where Royal Duke, proscribed patriot, mad enthusiast, bold agnostic, and tired worldling can all find an inviolate asylum under the majestic shadows of its mountains--by the shores of its dreaming lakes!" Alan Hawke dropped suddenly from the clouds as the practical Miss Genie led the way to the breakfast rendezvous, cheerfully demonstrating her own bold ideas of social freedom by remarking: "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.