"This is Mr. Hamilton, Marie, and this is my friend, Marie Borel,
Uncle Henry," said Ruth quickly. "You two should be very good
friends, for Uncle Henry's just been telling me how fond he is of
Switzerland."
"Ah, do you love my country?" cried Marie, all her embarrassment forgotten. "It ees so good to hear that; I am sometimes so homeseeck for my mountains."
"Indeed I do love your mountains and your lakes and the good people who live there," responded Mr. Hamilton with a warmth that delighted Marie's homesick heart.
"But I must speak to my aunt," said Marie struggling to rise from her many wraps. "You will perhaps come into the house." "No, sit still, and I'll tell Mrs. Perrier we're here," urged Ruth. "We can stay only a few minutes, and we like to sit here in the sunshine."
She disappeared into the house, and while she was gone Mr. Hamilton set himself to the pleasant task of getting acquainted with the shy girl whose wonderful dark eyes looked so confidingly at him. It needed only a few sympathetic questions to induce her to tell him of the little town nestled at the foot of the Jura Mountains, of the sparkling lake on which she used to look from her chamber window, and of the Jungfrau, seventy miles away, but seeming so near in clear weather.
"I know just where your old home is, Marie," he said kindly, when, in her pretty, broken English, she had pictured her birthplace to him. "I don't wonder that you are homesick, for even I often long for a sight of those beautiful mountains."
"It gives me much good to talk of them to some one who knows how beautiful they are," answered Marie simply. "But here comes Miss Ruth, and—"
"Now, Marie, don't you scold me," interrupted Ruth gaily. "I just couldn't help bringing out your lace pillow and your embroidery for Uncle Henry to see."
"Oh, a gentleman," laughed Marie, "a gentleman, he does not care for fine stitches."
"There, isn't that beautiful, Uncle Henry?" persisted Ruth. "And what do you think? I've learned to make a very simple pattern."