I laughed, begged old grannie's pardon, and set off
to see Turner notwithstanding, leaving her to read and ponder Shepherd's
letter.
"What do you think, Turner?" I said, and told him the case. He looked
rather grave.
"When would you think of going?" he asked.
"About the beginning of June."
"Nearly two months," he said, thoughtfully. "And Miss Connie was not the
worse for getting on the sofa yesterday?"
"The better, I do think."
"Has she had any increase of pain since?"
"None, I quite believe; for I questioned her as to that."
He thought again. He was a careful man, although young.
"It is a long journey."
"She could make it by easy stages."
"It would certainly do her good to breathe the sea-air and have such a
thorough change in every way--if only it could be managed without fatigue
and suffering. I think, if you can get her up every day between this and
that, we shall be justified in trying it at least. The sooner you get her
out of doors the better too; but the weather is scarcely fit for that yet."
"A good deal will depend on how she is inclined, I suppose."
"Yes. But in her case you must not mind that too much.
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