"Well, yes, it was when I came back. That's just what I don't like about him, Eliot. He's getting dependent on me, and it's bad for him. I wish he could go away somewhere for a change. A long change. Away from me, away from the farm, away from Wyck, somewhere where he hasn't been before. It might cure him, mightn't it?"
"Yes," he said. "Yes. It would be worth trying."
He didn't look at her. He knew what she was going to say. She said it.
"Eliot—do you think you could take him with you? Could you stand the strain?"
"If you could stand it for four years I ought to be able to stand it for a month."
"If he gets better it won't be a strain. He isn't a bit of trouble when he's well. He's adorable. Only—perhaps—if you're run down you oughtn't to."
"I'm not so bad as all that. The only thing is, you say he ought to get away from you, and I wanted you to come too."
"Me?"
"You and Maisie and Jerrold."
"I can't. It's impossible. I can't leave the farm."