"I don't know why I should not tell you all about it, Madelon, though I have said nothing about it to any one yet—but it will be no secret. I had a letter this morning telling me that there is an opening for a physician at L——, that small place on the Mediterranean, you know, that has come so much into fashion lately as a winter place for invalids. Dr. B——, an old friend of mine, who is there now, is going to leave it, and he has written to give me the first offer of being his successor."
"And shall you go?" asked Madelon.
"Well, I should like it well enough for a good many reasons, for the next two or three years, at any rate. It is a lovely place, a good climate, and I should not feel myself tied down if anything else turned up that suited me better; but there are other considerations—in fact, I cannot decide without thinking it well over."
"But at any rate, you would not go there till next winter, would you?" said Madelon, with a tremor in her voice which she vainly tried to conceal.
"Not to stop; but if I accept this offer, I should go out immediately for a week or two, so as to get introduced to B—— 's patients before they leave. A good many will be returning next winter probably, and it would be as well for me, as a matter of business, to make their acquaintance; you understand?"
"Yes, I understand—but then you would have to go at once, Monsieur Horace, for it is already April, and the weather is so warm that people will be coming away. I remember how they used to fly from Nice and Florence—every one that we knew as soon as it began to get hot."
"Yes, I have not much time to lose, and if I decide to go at all, I shall start at once. But it is very doubtful."
They had reached the end of the field whilst talking; a heavy gate separated it from a lane beyond, and the children, unable to open it, had dispersed here and there along the bank, hunting for primroses.
"Shall we go on?" said Graham, "or would you like to turn back now? You look tired."
Madelon did not answer; what was the use of going on? What did it matter? Everything came to the same end at last—a sense of utter discouragement and weariness had seized her, and she stood leaning against the gate, staring blankly down the road before her. There were about twenty yards of shady, grassy lane, and then it was divided by a cross-road, with a cottage standing at one of the angles. Graham, who was looking at Madelon, saw her face change suddenly.