"Did you hear what I was saying, Doctor?" cried Harry wonderingly.
"Pretty well every word, my boy. It will be the very thing for me, for I am completely fagged. A long ride day after day up the river will be rest and refreshment. But I can't take you, my dear."
"I shall not mind, Duncan," said his wife. "Nothing could be better.
Yes, you must go."
He sat up, and then sank back again, closing his eyes.
"It is of no use to fight against it, Mary," he said sadly. "I am doctor enough to thoroughly grasp all my symptoms. I really am overdone, and there is nothing for it but to try change—such a change as this. I wish it did not look like going for a thorough holiday and leaving you behind. It does not seem right."
"You will make me unhappy if you talk like this," cried Mrs. Cameron. "How can you think I should be so selfish as to mind your doing what is for your health?"
"It will do him good, Mrs. Cameron," said Harry, who was not enjoying the scene.
"Of course," she cried. "You may go back and tell Mr. Kenyon that the doctor will be delighted to make one of the party, for he wants a change badly."
"Look here, Harry; I don't think I ought to go," said the doctor.
"He ought, Harry, and he shall," cried his wife. "You take that message."