Edgar sighed. He would have liked to go to some wild Welsh or Scottish coast, far from beaten tracks. He would have liked some sea-side village in the south of Ireland—Dunmore, or Tramore, or Kilkee; some quiet retreat nestled in a hollow of the cliffs, where as yet never brass band nor fashionable gowns had come; a place to which people came for pure love of fine air and grand scenery, and not to show off their clothes or advertise their easy circumstances. But he knew that if he took his mother to such a place she would be miserable; so he held his peace. ‘Where would you like to go this year?’ he said presently. ‘Well, I have been considering that point, Edgar. Let me see now. We went to Brighton last year——’ ‘Yes,’ sighed Edgar, remembering what a tread-mill business the lawn had seemed to him; how ineffably tiresome the Aquarium; how monotonous the shops in the King’s Road, and the entertainments at the Pavilion. ‘And to Scarborough the year before.’ ‘Yes,’ with a still wearier sigh. ‘And the year before that to Eastbourne; and the year before that to Torquay. Don’t you think we might go to Torquay again this year? I hear it is very much improved.’ ‘Very much built upon, I suppose you mean, mother. More smoky chimneys, more hotels, more churches, longer streets. I should think, judging by what it had come to when we saw it, that by this time Torquay must be a very good imitation of Bayswater. However, if you like Torquay——’ ‘It is one of the few places I do like.’ ‘Then let it be Torquay, by all means. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, mother. I’ll run down to Torquay to-morrow, find some nice lodgings for you—I think by this time I know exactly what you want in that way—and engage them for any day you like to name.’ ‘That’s very kind of you, Edgar. But be sure you get some reference as to the landlady’s character, so that you may be certain there has been no fever case in the house during the last twelvemonth. And it would be as well to get a local architect to look at the drains. It would be a guinea well spent.’ ‘All right, mother; I’ll do anything you like. I am longing for a blow of sea-air.’ ‘But it will be at least a week before I can come. What will you do with yourself in the meantime?’ ‘Oh, I shall contrive to amuse myself somehow. I might go on to Dartmouth, and charter a boat, and go up the Dart. I want very much to see the Dart. Only say on what day I may expect you at Torquay.’ ‘Am I to travel alone, Edgar?’ ‘You’ll have Deborah. And the journey won’t be difficult. You’ll join the express at Swindon, don’t you know——’ ‘If you think I can trust to Deborah’s care of the luggage,’ said Mrs. Turchill dubiously. ‘She’s very steady.’ ‘Steady! Well she ought to be at her age. You’ve only to get the luggage labelled, you see, mother——’