"John Hatton would have married you if you had been a beggar-maid. There is no woman in the world to him, but his own sweet Jane." Then Jane took his hands and kissed them, and there was a few moments of most eloquent silence—a silence just touched with happy tears.
John spoke first. "Jane, my darling," he said, "do you think a few months in the south would do you good? If you could lie out in the warm breeze and the sunshine—if you were free of all these little social worries—if you took your mother with you—if you——"
"John, my dear one, I have an invitation from Lady Harlow to spend a few weeks with her. Surrey is much warmer than Yorkshire. I might go there."
"Yes," answered John, but his voice was reluctant and dissenting, and in a few moments he said, "There is little Martha—could you take her with you?"
"Oh dear me! What would be the good of my going away to rest, if I drag a child with me? You know Martha is spoiled and wilful."
"Is she? I am sorry to hear that. She would, however, have her maid, and she is now nearly three years old."
"It would be useless for me to go away, unless I go alone. I suggested Surrey because I thought you could come to see me every Saturday."
The little compliment pleased John, and he answered, "You shall do just as you wish, darling! I would give up everything to see you look as you used to look."
"You are always harping on that one string, John. It is only four years since we were married. Have I become an old woman in four years?"
"No, but you have become a sick woman. I want you to be well and strong."