"Do I; really, Mr. Winthrope?" she asked, with her eyes illuminating.
"Surely, you are better; I can hope so anyway."
"I was better for some time after you left in March; but lately I have been gradually growing worse, till now I am in bed again, as you see."
"I plainly see," he said jocularly; "but, if you would get out of here and into the country somewhere, and get the fresh air and open doors, I am sure you would improve rapidly?"
"Do you think so?" she asked, withdrawing her hand and folding them both together, as she turned on her side, facing him.
"Why, nothing would be better," he answered.
"I am going away tomorrow," she said decisively.
"Tomorrow! So soon, and you in bed yet?" he exclaimed.
"My papa insists that I shall have a change of environment at once."
"Can you go? Where will they take you?"