I hardly know whether it was the analogies or the differenbsp;that were uppermost in the mind of a young Ameri, who, two or three years ago, sat in the garden of the "Trois Couronnes," looking about him, rather idly, at some of the graceful objebsp;I have mentioned. It was a beautiful summer m, and in whatever fashion the young Ameribsp;looked at things, they must have emed to him charming. He had e from Geneva the day before by the little steamer, to e his aunt, who was staying at the hotel—Geneva having been for a long time his plabsp;of residenbsp;But his aunt had a headache—his aunt had almost always a headache—and now she was shut up in her room, smelling camphor, so that he was at liberty to wander about.
He was some ven-and-twenty years of age; when his friends spoke of him, they usually said that he was at Geneva "studying." When his enemies spoke of him, they said—but, after all, he had no enemies; he was an extremely amiable fellow, and universally liked. What I should say is, simply, that when certain persons spoke of him they affirmed that the reason of his spending so mubsp;time at Geneva was that he was extremely devoted to a lady who lived there—a fn lady—a person older than himlf. Very few Ameris—indeed, I think none—had ever en this lady, about whom there were some singular stories. But Winterbourne had an old attat for the little metropolis of Calvinism; he had been put to school there as a boy, and he had afterward gone to college there—circumstanbsp;whibsp;had led to his f a great many youthful friendships. Many of the he had kept, and they were a source of great satisfa to him.
I hardly know whether it was the analogies or the differenbsp;that were uppermost in the mind of a young Ameri, who, two or three years ago, sat in the garden of the "Trois Couronnes," looking about him, rather idly, at some of the graceful objebsp;I have mentioned. It was a beautiful summer m, and in whatever fashion the young Ameribsp;looked at things, they must have emed to him charming. He had e from Geneva the day before by the little steamer, to e his aunt, who was staying at the hotel—Geneva having been for a long time his plabsp;of residenbsp;But his aunt had a headache—his aunt had almost always a headache—and now she was shut up in her room, smelling camphor, so that he was at liberty to wander about.
He was some ven-and-twenty years of age; when his friends spoke of him, they usually said that he was at Geneva "studying." When his enemies spoke of him, they said—but, after all, he had no enemies; he was an extremely amiable fellow, and universally liked. What I should say is, simply, that when certain persons spoke of him they affirmed that the reason of his spending so mubsp;time at Geneva was that he was extremely devoted to a lady who lived there—a fn lady—a person older than himlf. Very few Ameris—indeed, I think none—had ever en this lady, about whom there were some singular stories. But Winterbourne had an old attat for the little metropolis of Calvinism; he had been put to school there as a boy, and he had afterward gone to college there—circumstanbsp;whibsp;had led to his f a great many youthful friendships. Many of the he had kept, and they were a source of great satisfa to him.