It was a beautiful morning, and as yet not too warm, the heat of the sun being tempered by the cool breeze, which, blowing from the shore, brought with it the resinous odours of fir and pine. On either side precipitous mountains towered up into the intense blue of the summer sky, the innumerable villas made pleasant spots of colour here and there, while the bosom of the lake, placidly treacherous, was of changeful hues, like the varying colours of a peacock's neck. Plenty of tourists, in all sorts of extraordinary garbs, were on the deck of the steamer, chattering Italian, German, English, and French, according to their different nationalities, all laden with umbrellas, alpenstocks, Baedekers, luncheon-bags, marine glasses, and such-like evidences of travel. Mrs. Trubbles, having established herself in a comfortable corner, was trying to get a short sleep prior to facing the fatigues of Como, so Victoria and her attentive cavalier, being left to their own devices, began to talk about everyone and everything. "How these tourists do hold on to their guide-books," said Victoria disdainfully, "one would think they'd be quite lost without them." "Very likely they would," replied Otterburn, pulling his straw hat over his eyes with a yawn, "they have a prejudice against looking at any place without knowing all about it." "It's such a trouble reading up all about cathedrals and pictures--I like to ask questions." "Oh! guides!" "No! no I--they're worse than Baedeker. They never stop talking, and their information is so scrappy." "Extensive but not accurate," suggested Macjean with a laugh. "I'm not sure even about the extensive part," observed Victoria gaily; "when I was in England I went to a cathedral--I won't mention names--and the verger had a cut-and-dried story about the place. When he finished his little narrative I began to ask him questions. You've no idea how exasperated he became, because he knew absolutely nothing, and at last said, in despair, 'Why, Miss, you must be an American.' I told him I was an Australian, so he promptly replied, 'Well, Miss, that's quite as bad--for questions.'" As in duty bound, Angus laughed at this story, which was simple enough in itself, but the telling of it seemed to establish a more friendly feeling between them, of which this artful young man took full advantage, and began to point out the various objects of interest on the lake. "You see that villa over there," he said in an official tone, "it belongs to the Visconti lot. They used to be Dukes of Milan, you know." "Dear me! and why aren't they Dukes of Milan now?" "Haven't the least idea," replied Angus, whose historical knowledge was of the vaguest description. "Napoleon, you know, I think he upset the apple-cart--turned them out, I mean. You see, Miss Sheldon, I'm like your verger--I know a stereotyped story, but if you ask me anything beyond I'm up a tree."