n, near the
Seelisberg, that looks down on Lucerne Lake, straight over to where
Tell shot the arrow? If you do not, it does not matter. Mr. and Mrs.
Fenwick had never been there before, and have never been there since.
And what happened might just as easily have happened anywhere else.
But it was there, as a matter of fact; and if you know the place, you
will be able to imagine the two of them leaning on the parapet of the
terrace that overlooks the lake, watching the steamer from Lucerne
creeping slowly to the landing-place at the head of a white comet it
has churned the indescribable blue of the lake to, and discussing
whether it is nearest to Oriental sapphire or to green jasper at its
bluest.

Rosalind had got used to continual wonderment as to when and where
Fenwick had come to know so well this thing and that thing he spoke of
so familiarly; so she passed by the strange positiveness of his speech
about the shades of jasper, the scarcity of really blue examples, and
his verdict that the bluest possible one would be just the colour of
that water below them. She was not going to ask him how he came to be
so mighty wise about chalcedony and chrysoprase and sardonyx, about
which she herself either never knew or had forgotten. She took it all
as a matter of course, and asked if the Baron's cigar was a good one.

"Magnificent!" Fenwick replied, puffing at it. "How shall we return
his civility?"

"Give _him_ a cigar next time you get a chance."

Fenwick laughs, in derision of his own cigars.

"God bless me, my dearest love! Why, one of the Baron's is worth my
whole box. We must discover something better than that." Both ponder
over possible reciprocities in silence, but discover nothing, and seem
to give up the quest by mutual consent. Then he says: "I wonder why
he cosseted up to us last night in the garden so!" And she repeats:
"I wonder why!"

"I don't believe he even knows our name," she continues; and then he
repeats: "_I_ don't believe he knows our name. I'm sure he doesn't."

"And it was so dark, he couldn't have seen much of us. But his cigar's
quite beautiful. Blow the smoke in my face, Gerry!" She shuts her eyes
to receive it. How handsome Sally would think mamma was looking if she
could see her now in the light of the sunset! Her husband thinks much
to that effect, as he turns to blow the smoke on order into the face
that is so close to his, as they lean arm-in-arm on the parapet the sun
has left his w