“What do you do here?” said Rowland, smiling.
“I count the minutes till my week is up. I hate mountains; they depress me to death. I am sure Miss Garland likes them.”
“She is very fond of them, I believe.”
“You believe—don’t you know? But I have given up trying to imitate Miss Garland,” said Christina.
“You surely need imitate no one.”
“Don’t say that,” she said gravely. “So you have walked ten miles this morning? And you are to walk back again?”
“Back again to supper.”
“And Mr. Hudson too?”
“Mr. Hudson especially. He is a great walker.”
“You men are happy!” Christina cried. “I believe I should enjoy the mountains if I could do such things. It is sitting still and having them scowl down at you! Prince Casamassina never rides. He only goes on a mule. He was carried up the Faulhorn on a litter.”