"Can there be a doubt of it?" said Mr. Haveloc.
And who, indeed, would have traced the progress of disease in those sparkling eyes—that beautiful bloom. Her walk was no longer stooping; her step was not languid. Her mother was astonished at the renovation that seemed to have taken place within her, though she was enlightened as to the cause. And Aveline, the thought of her danger had vanished like lightning from her mind. She was well, strong, happy, she could never be ill again.
"And how long are we likely to have you for our neighbour, Mr. Haveloc?" asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"I have taken the villa for the summer," he said; "but if it pleases me, perhaps, I shall buy it. I should like to have something of a fishing cottage by the sea-side; and though the house is a nut-shell, it is large enough for that purpose. One puts up with any accommodation at the sea."
"And a single man ought to put up with a cupboard, you know," said Aveline.
"Ah! Miss Fitzpatrick, I am aware of the immense dignity a man gains when he is married," said Mr. Haveloc; "before that awful period, he is hardly looked upon as a member of society. Is this your house? What a paradise. Allow me to return you your Dante, and do me the honour to recollect that I rescued the old bard from the waves."
"No—you must come in, Mr. Haveloc," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "I cannot part so quickly from an old friend. We dine early on Aveline's account, and you can take your luncheon at the same time."
"I shall be too happy to come in," said Mr. Haveloc, "for luncheon, I disdain it altogether, as most men do."
"I believe you never eat, Mr. Haveloc," said Aveline, "you never did. People talk of ladies living on air; I never could make out what you lived upon at Sorrento."
"Turkies, I believe, Miss Fitzpatrick; they were the staple commodity in that part of the world. I do not wonder that you were anxious to return to England," he said, looking round, as they entered the drawing-room. "The wonder is, how you could ever leave so delightful a spot."