“I shall like to go anywhere with you, Martin,” she answered. “But is it really necessary to go away? I know you love Trelasco.” “Oh, I have the Cornishman’s passion for his native soil; but I am not so rooted to it as to pine in exile. I shall be happy enough in the South, with my dear young wife; especially if I see the roses come back to your cheeks in that land of flowers.” “But it will cost you such a lot of money to take us all away, Martin; and you could not leave Allegra or the baby. Doctors have such expensive ideas.” “Allegra, and the boy! Must we take them, do you think, love?” “We could not leave him,” said Isola, horrified at the bare suggestion; “and it would be very hard to leave Allegra. She bore all the burden of my illness. She has been so good and unselfish. And she will so revel in the South. She has never travelled, she, for whom Nature means so much more than it can for you or me.” “Well, we will take Allegra, and the boy, whose railway ticket will cost nothing, and his nurse. There is a shot in the locker still, Isa, in spite of last year’s building operations, which cost a good deal more than I expected. We will all migrate together. Consider that settled. The only question that remains is the direction in which we shall go. Shall we make for the Pyrenees or the Maritime Alps? Shall we go to Pau, and Biarritz, or to the Riviera, Hyères, Cannes, Nice?” Isola was in favour of Pau, but after much consultation of books recording other people’s experiences, it was finally decided that of all places in the world, San Remo was the best winter home for Martin Disney’s wife. “You can take her up to the Engadine in June,” said Mr. Baynham, who had a superficial familiarity with the Continent from hearing his patients talk about their travels, he himself never having left Cornwall, except for a plunge into the metropolitan vortex during the Cattle Show week. “Or you may spend your summer in Auvergne--unless you want to come home as soon as the cold weather is over.” “I shall do whatever may be best for her--home or otherwise,” answered Disney. “You may be sure of that.” The doctor went back to his wife, with whom he always discussed everything, except purely professional matters--there were even occasions when he could not refrain from enlarging upon the interesting features of some very pretty case--and was enthusiastic in his praise of Colonel Disney. “I never saw such devotion,” he said. “Any other man would think it hard lines to have to strike his tent at a day’s notice, and go off to winter at a strange place, among invalids and old women; but Disney says never a word of his own inclinations or his own inconvenience. He positively adores that young woman. I only hope she’s worth it.”