"But what I have said is to you alone," she resumed. "My husband and children do not see the worst, and I refrain from telling them. A little word of confidence between us, Val."
"I hope and trust you may come back cured!" he said, very fervently. "Is it the fever that has so shattered you?"
"It is the result of it. I have never since been able to recover strength, but have become weaker and more weak. And you know I was in ill health before. We leave on Monday morning for Cannes."
"For Cannes?" he exclaimed.
"Yes. A place not so warm as some I might have gone to; but the doctors say that will be all the better. It is not heat I need; only shelter from our cold northern winds until I can get a little strength into me. There's nothing the matter with my lungs; indeed, I don't know that anything is the matter with me except this terrible weakness."
"I suppose Anne goes with you?"
"Oh yes. I could not go without Anne. The doctor will see us settled there, and then he returns."
A thought crossed Lord Hartledon: how pleasant if he and Anne could have been married, and have made this their wedding tour. He did not speak it: Mrs. Ashton would have laughed at his haste.
"How long shall you remain away?" he asked.
"Ah, I cannot tell you. I may not live to return. If all goes well—that is, if there should be a speedy change for the better, as the medical men who have been attending me think there may be—I shall be back perhaps in April or May. Val—I cannot forget the old familiar name, you see—"