‘You will miss your Saturdays and Sundays, my dear,’ continued the aunt, ‘for we shall have to go abroad, so as to be quite out of the way of everything.’
‘Never mind that, dear aunt, if only Uncle Frank is better. Will it be long?’
‘I cannot tell. He says six weeks, Dr. Smith
says three months. It is to be bracing air—Switzerland, most likely.’
‘Oh, how delightful! How you will enjoy it!’
‘It has always been a dream, and it is strange now to feel so downhearted about it,’ said her aunt, smiling.
‘Uncle Frank is sure to be better there,’ said Constance. ‘Only think of the snowy mountains—
Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains;
They crown’d him long ago
On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds,
With a diadem of snow.’
And the girl’s eyes brightened with an enthusiasm that the elder woman felt for a moment, nor did either of them feel the verse hackneyed.
‘Ah, I wish we could take you, my dear,’ said Lady Northmoor; then, ‘Do you know where Herbert is?’