When she had reposed a little after her journey, and had seen the contents of the Saratoga trunks arranged in wardrobe and drawers, Aunt Rhoda showed herself a most ardent votary of the picturesque. She had a volume of Byron in her hand all day, and quoted his description of Leman and Chillon in a way that was almost as exasperating as the torture inflicted by a professional punster. She insisted upon being taken to Chillon on the morning after her arrival. She made Gerald organise an excursion from Evian to the mountain village above, at the foot of the Dent d’Oche, for the following day. She made them take her to the Rochers de Naye, to the Gorge du Chauderon; to Lausanne by steamer one day, to Nyon another day. She was always exploring the guide-books in search of excursions that could be managed between sunrise and sundown. Sir Vernon, having settled himself in his study at Montreux, with books and papers about him, was just as much dependent for his comfort and happiness upon Lina’s society as ever he had been at South Hill. It was out of the question that a daughter so unselfish and devoted could leave her invalid father day after day. Thus it happened that Madoline in a manner dropped out of the excursionising party. Gerald could not be dispensed with—though he more than once declared in favour of staying at home—for nobody else was familiar with those shores, and Mrs. Ferrers protested that it would be impossible to get on without him. ‘You all have your Baedekers,’ he argued, ‘and you are only going over beaten tracks. What more can you want?’ ‘Beaten tracks!’ exclaimed Aunt Rhoda indignantly. ‘I’m sure those pathways you took us up yesterday on the way to the Dent d’Oche had never been trodden upon except by the cows. And I hate groping about with my nose in a guide-book. One always misses the things best worth seeing. Do you think we could get on without him, Daphne?’ she asked in conclusion, appealing to her younger niece, to whom she had been unusually amiable ever since her arrival. ‘I think we might manage without Mr. Goring,’ Daphne answered gravely, with never a glance at Gerald. She had scrupulously avoided all direct association with him of late. ‘Edgar and I are getting to know Switzerland and Swiss ways wonderfully well.’ ‘Have you ever been to the Gorge du Chauderon?’ asked Aunt Rhoda. Daphne confessed that this particular locality was unknown to her. She did not even know what the Gorge was, except that it sounded, in a general way, like a glen or ravine. ‘Then how can you talk such arrant nonsense?’ demanded her aunt contemptuously. ‘What good could you or Edgar be in a place that neither of you have ever seen in your lives? You can’t know the proper way to get to it, or the safest way to get away from it. We should all tumble over some hidden precipice, and break our necks.’ ‘Baedeker doesn’t say anything about precipices,’ said Daphne, with her eyes on that authority.