“Oh, no; this is July—the end of September would suit. Fritz will be away helping with the harvest.” After a moment’s silence she added, “In my mind I’ve long had this to say to you, liebe Frau, and now, thanks be to God, it’s said,” and she turned about, and went slowly indoors.
Letty followed her and ascended to her room,—there to collect her ideas and make plans. She would be glad to go, and yet here was the old weakness—sorry. At Les Plans she had outward peace, occupation, her walks, her books, and her letters from Lancelot. These were mere pleasant epistles, such as a man would send to a woman-friend, aunt, or sister-in-law, yet how she treasured them. Accounts of balls and race meetings, she read them over and over again, jealously searching for a clue to some girl, the happy, happy, fortunate girl, who would one day, take her place.—Then she loved Switzerland and its beautiful scenery—with the affection of a native. Cara, on the contrary, hated the country and expressed herself to her mother with scornful vehemence.
“I loathe these blue skies, blue mountains, blue lake,” she announced. “They give me the blues! As for the wonderful view, you rave about, I’d sooner look at a picture postcard—much less fag!”
Letty presently sat down at her deal table, and wrote to Mrs. Hesketh.
“Do try and come at once, best of friends, for I want you urgently; and you know you promised to be here this month, sans faute. Frau Hurter has just given me notice to leave in September. Cara is now a young lady, and full of ideas and ambitions. I implore you to advise me, as to what will be best for her? where we are to live? and what we are to do?”
Meanwhile Cara and Fritz had gone upon the lake in a superior new boat—a recent purchase. As he rowed towards the Nasen, and she reclined luxuriously in the stern, he told her of his mother’s plans respecting himself and Gertrud, to which news Cara listened with loud, derisive laughter, and a beaming face. He also related how he was to lead a pastoral life on the farm of a patriarchal relative—in order to learn all the new methods.
“But when I come back in September you will be here, Mitli, won’t you?”
“Why, of course,” she answered impatiently. “Am I not always here?”
“And you will write often—often—as before? Swear it!”
“Yes—often.”