"When have you seen Christina?" Dolly asked.
"Not in some months."
"Are they at Sorrento yet?"
"No; they spent the winter in Rome, and this summer they are in Switzerland. I had a letter from Miss Thayer the other day. I mean, a few weeks ago."
It occurred to Dolly that one or the other of them must be a slack correspondent.
"I almost wonder they could leave Sorrento," she remarked.
"They got tired of it."
"I never get tired of lovely things," said Dolly. "The longer I know them the better pleasure I take in them. I could have stayed in Venice, it seemed to me, for years; and Rome—I should never have got away from Rome of my own accord, if duty had not made me; and then at Naples, I enjoyed it better the last day than the first. And Sorrento"——
"What about Sorrento?"
"Oh, it was—you know what Sorrento is. It was roses and myrtles and orange blossoms, and the fire of the pomegranate flowers and the grey of the olives; and the Italian sun, and the Italian air; and, Mr. Shubrick, you know what the Mediterranean is, with all its colours under the shadow of the cliffs and the sunlight on the open sea. And Vesuvius was always a delightful wonder to me. And the people were so nice. Sorrento is perfect." A soft breath of a sigh came from Dolly's heart.