“No,” George answered, smiling, “it was not, Dulcie. I have been thinking that Nessie looks pale; and I should like to take you all a little trip into Wales.”
“Why Wales?”
“I have a fancy for revisiting sometimes old scenes.”
Dulcibel faced round upon him.
“You mean that you want to go to the valley where we found Joan?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you may as well know one thing beforehand,” said Dulcibel, in a resolute voice—“and that is that I will not walk over the shaking bridge, and Nessie shall not either.”
George’s moustache twitched slightly, and he smoothed out his beard.
“The terrors of that bridge seem to have made a strong impression on you, my dear.”
“I wouldn’t cross it again for anything—not for anything you could mention—or let Nessie. What makes you want to go there?”