“There’s always something to be made of our tragedies, Isabelle. The first thing is to get yourself well again. You’re all eyes. It won’t do. You must go away and get together, and when you come back we will have a talk about your work. I’m sure you have talent of some sort, if we can just direct it properly.”
“I’ll never believe in myself again.”
He laughed and patted her hand.
“Europe is out of the question. How about Bermuda? Ever been there?”
“No”—indifferently.
“Just the place. Lots doing. Soldiers recuperating, people to watch, people to play with. Fine place for you. I’ll suggest it to your parents.”
He rose and took her two small hands.
“You promise me to get well, and to come back your old vivid self?”
“I’ll try. You are a comfort. You helped that other time, too, when the guillotine nearly broke Tommy Page’s neck.”