“You don’t have to go to Waldek,” I said. “If you’re seeking refuge in working I can go there by train alone.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “Of course I want to go to Waldek. Those mountains make me feel as though they ought to be set down on canvas.”
“Work’s pretty fascinating,” I agreed, “if you’re not doing any.”
“That’s not true,” John objected. “I’m not doing any, and don’t want to, but once I start I like it. You’ll see when we get to Waldek.”
“The mountains are there, too,” I promised him.
“I know,” he answered. “And I’ve never visited a Countess in a mediæval castle. I’m expecting a couple of ghosts and a bookful of legends, to say nothing of all the neighbors in for Kaffee Klatsch, and the feudal retainers in costume.”
“I hope so,” I said. “I feel a bit doubtful myself. I’ve never been to Waldek, and it’s eight years since I’ve seen Helena.”
“The grand finale to a perfect trip,” he enthused politely. “Reunion with a lost cousin and her beautiful daughter, the Countess Marie.”
“Only don’t blame me,” I warned, “if she isn’t. I haven’t seen the kid since she was about twelve or so. She was thin and pig-tailed then, and over fond of sticky French pastry and marrons glacés.”
“She’s probably grown fat on them in eight years, and had a permanent wave. Still, I always hope for the best, and sometimes I’m surprised by getting something like it. Look at that, for instance.”