“Would you like to go back to Marshmallows, Connie?” I asked.
Her countenance flashed into light.
“O, dear papa, do let us go,” she said; “that would be delightful.”
“Well, I think we can manage it, if you will only get a little stronger for the journey. The weather is not so good to travel in as when we came down.”
“No; but I am ever so much better, you know, than I was then.”
The poor girl was already stronger from the mere prospect of going home again. She moved restlessly on her couch, half mechanically put her hand to the curtain, pulled it aside, looked out, faced the sun and the sea, and did not draw back. My mind was made up. I left her, and went to find Ethelwyn. She heartily approved of the proposal for Connie’s sake, and said that it would be scarcely less agreeable to herself. I could see a certain troubled look above her eyes, however.
“You are thinking of Wynnie,” I said.
“Yes. It is hard to make one sad for the sake of the rest.”
“True. But it is one of the world’s recognised necessities.”
“No doubt.”