“Not a bit, doctor; I have planned it all. From this to Marseilles is easy enough,—only forty hours; once there, I either go direct to Cagliari, or catch the Sardinian steamer at Genoa—”
“You talk of these places as if they were all old acquaintances; but, my dear child, only fancy yourself alone in a foreign city. I don't speak of the difficulties of a new language.”
“You might, though, my dear doctor. My French and Italian, which carry me on pleasantly enough with Racine and Ariosto, will expose me sadly with my 'commissionnaire.'”
“But quite alone you cannot go,—that's certain.”
“I must not take a maid, that's as certain; Tom would only send us both back again. If you insist, and if grandpapa insists upon it, I will take old Nicholas. He thinks it a great hardship that he has not been carried away over seas to see the great world; and all his whims and tempers that tortured us as children will only amuse us now; his very tyranny will be good fun.”
“I declare frankly,” said the doctor, laughing, “I do not see how the difficulties of foreign travel are to be lessened by the presence of old Nicholas; but are you serious in all this?”
“Perfectly serious, and fully determined on it, if I be permitted.”
“When would you go?”
“At once! I mean as soon as possible. The Sewells are to be here on Saturday. I would leave on Friday evening by the mail-train from London. I would telegraph to Tom to say on what day he might expect me.”
“To-day is Tuesday; is it possible you could be ready?”