he first shadow
on her life since her mother's death, five years before.

In September, most unexpectedly, they met him again at Geneva. Cary had
been feeding the swans in the blue waters about the little isle of J.J.
Rousseau, and was figuring how much he'd have to pay in costs and fines
if he yielded to his consuming desire to "drop a donick" on the head of
one of them that had spit at him, when Flo suddenly gasped, "Oh!
there's----" and stopped short. Loungers and passers-by looked up and
shrugged their Gallic shoulders and exchanged glances of commiseration
at sight of a sixteen-year-old boy rushing yelling after a cab. But the
boy was fleet, despite his recent flesh-wound, and presently reappeared,
dragging a man by the arm, who bared his brown head and bowed low over a
frankly extended hand. He looked a trifle dusty and travel-stained to
Cary's critical eye, and the boy meant to comment on the foreign cut of
his Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, provided a chance were afforded
him to enter a remark edgewise, but Florence, with glowing cheeks and
sparkling eyes, was pouring forth a volume of welcome and explanation
all in one. Forrest was on his way to the station _en route_ to
Montreux.

"Oh, don't go by rail! Wait and take the boat with us; it's so much
lovelier!"

Over at the quay lay moored the Major Davel, and thither Forrest bade
the cabman take his luggage. It was indeed lovelier,--the evening voyage
up that beautiful Alp-locked lake,--and while auntie, fatigued with her
day's shopping and sight-seeing, snoozed placidly in the salon, and
Cary, on honor not to smoke cigarettes again until his next birthday,
was puffing a Swiss "penny-grab" at the bow, Mr. Forrest and this fair,
joyous girl sat and talked while the sun went down over the Jura and
turned to purple and gold and crimson the dazzling summits of Mont Blanc
and the far-away peaks up the valley of the Rhone. Elmendorf was
enjoying a week's leave, Mr. Allison was sampling the waters at
Carlsbad, and auntie and Florence had Cary on their hands. The boy
adored Forrest by this time. Couldn't Forrest spend a day or two? They
would take him to Chillon and up to the Rochers de Naye. _There_ was a
view worth seeing! "I can stand on that point up yonder," said Cary, "a
mile and a quarter high, and fire a stone down the chimney of the hotel
at Territet." And they did take him, for Forrest remained four days. Mr.
Elmendorf wrote that, on the advice of his p