It was three hours before they returned to their rooms in the old palazzo. Harriet was dull and somewhat silent, and Anthony confessed to a headache.
“I am not quite sure now,” he said, as they were dining, “whether a trip to Australia or America would not do us both more good than lingering about these mild, warm places. I think our constitutions both require bracing rather than coddling. Australia is a grand young country! I have often contemplated paying her a visit. What would you say to it, Hally?”
“I should enjoy it as much as yourself, Tony! You so often have a headache now! I think the drainage of these southern towns must be defective!”
“Oh! shocking! They are famous for typhoid and malarial fevers. They are not drained at all!”
“Don’t let us stay here long then! What should I do if you were to fall ill?”
“You are far more liable to fall sick of the two, my darling,” returned her husband, “I do not think your beautiful little body has much strength to sustain it. And then what should I do?”
“Ah! neither of us could do without the other, Tony!”
“Of course we couldn’t, and so we will provide against such a contingency by moving on before our systems get saturated with miasma and mistral. Will you sing to me to-night, Hally?”
“Not unless you very much wish it! I am a little tired. I feel as if I couldn’t throw any expression into my songs to-night!”
“Then come here and sit down on the sofa beside me, and let us talk!”