A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. The fresh air, which blew in his face, greatly revived him. “They seem to come to you as naturally as disappointment—to other people. We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. O'Higgins," said the manager, amusedly. She was curious to know why he had boarded a dingy train instead of hailing a cab or his own private chauffeur like the others in expensive suits were doing. You've betrayed yourself, Thames.
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