“I’ve had a letter from Belknap,” said J. a few days after this, “asking me to go back to Messina with him.”
“You’re not going?” I cried.
“Of course he is,” said Vera. She was playing ball with Patsy on the terrace.
“I can’t bear it; besides you must finish your Pan.’
“Your father would have gone.”
There was nothing for me to say to that.
“Take me with you,” said Patsy.
“And me!” cried Vera, all on fire.
“I can’t take you; but there’s nothing to prevent your all making a trip to Sicily. You have always wanted to—” he looked at me. “This is your chance, a little later though—it’s such a cold season.”
“How can he be so keen about getting back to that awful place?” I exclaimed.