“Nothing that she dislikes will do her any good,” he told Colonel Disney. “There is no use in being persistent about anything. Fancies and whims stand for a great deal in such an illness as hers.”
A week or two later the same kind doctor discovered that his patient was fast losing ground. Her strength had flagged considerably in a short time. He recommended change of scene.
“This quiet life suited her wonderfully well for the first month or so, but we are no longer making any headway. You had better try a gayer place—a little more life and movement.”
Martin Disney was ready to obey. He and Allegra took counsel together, and then—in the lightest strain, one evening after dinner—they discussed the notion of a change.
“Shall we strike our tents, Isola? Are you tired of San Remo?”
“No, Martin. I am tired of myself, sometimes—never of these olive woods and lemon groves. Sometimes the stillness and the silent beauty of the place make me feel unhappy, without knowing why; but that is a kind of unhappiness no one can escape.”
“Is there any place in the world within tolerable easy reach of this that you would like to see?” asked her husband.
“Yes, there is one city in the world that I have been longing to see ever since I began to have thoughts and wishes.”
“And that is——”
“Rome! I should like to see Rome before I die, Martin; if it were not too troublesome for you——”