“Why, my dearest aunt,” she cried, “they told me it was on your account that this voyage was undertaken!”
“I know they did, poor, dear Rosy, and that was in order not to alarm you. Some persons of delicate constitutions—”
“But my constitution is not in the least delicate, aunt; on the contrary, it is as good as possible; a blessing for which, I trust, I am truly grateful, I did not know but you might be suffering, though you do look so well, for they all agreed in telling me you had need of a sea-voyage.”
“I, a subject for hydropathy! Why, child, water is no more necessary to me than it is to a cat.”
“But going to sea, aunty, is not hydropathy—”
“Don't say that, Rosy; do not say that, my dear. It is hydropathy on a large scale, as Captain Spike says; and when he gets us into blue water, he has promised that you shall have all the benefits of the treatment.”
Rose was silent and thoughtful; after which she spoke quickly, like one to whom an important thought had suddenly occurred.
“And Captain Spike, then, was consulted in my case?” she asked.
“He was, my dear, and you have every reason to be grateful to him. He was the first to discover a change in your appearance, and to suggest a sea voyage. Marine Hydropathy, he said, he was sure would get you up again; for Captain Spike thinks your constitution good at the bottom, though the high colour you have proves too high a state of habitual excitement.”
“Was Dr. Monson consulted at all, aunt?”