When Florence started upon her homeward way, the afternoon had set in wet and chilly, and the sea was hidden in wreaths of gray mist. Altogether the scene was depressing. On arrival at the Cottage she found Eva standing, the picture of melancholy, by the window, and staring out at the misty sea.
“O Florence, I am glad that you have come home; I really began to feel inclined to commit suicide.”
“Indeed! and may I ask why?”
“I don’t know; the rain is so depressing, I suppose.”
“It does not depress me.”
“No, nothing ever does; you live in the land of perpetual calm.”
“I take exercise, and keep my liver in good order. Have you been out this afternoon?”
“No.”
“Ah, I thought not. No wonder you feel depressed, staying indoors all day. Why don’t you go for a walk?”
“There is nowhere to go.”