She settled down as well as she could to the domestic quiet of Montreux—the mornings and afternoons in the garden; the everlasting novels and poetry and crewel-work; Daphne and the St. Bernard sitting on the sloping grass by the edge of the water, or loitering about among the flowers. She bore this luxurious monotony as long as she could, and then she was seized with a happy thought which opened a little vista of variety. She discovered, one sultry afternoon, that Lina was looking pale and fagged, and called her brother’s attention to that fact. ‘I don’t wish to alarm you, Vernon,’ she said, as they were all sitting at afternoon tea on the lawn, in the shade of a magnificent willow, whose long tresses trailed in the lake; ‘but I believe if you don’t give Lina a little change from this baking valley, she will be seriously ill.’ ‘Pray don’t say that, Aunt Rhoda; I assure you that I am perfectly well,’ remonstrated Madoline, looking up from her cups and saucers. ‘My dear, you are one of those unselfish creatures who go on pretending to be well until they sink,’ replied Mrs. Ferrers, with an air of knowing ever so much more about Lina than Lina knew herself. ‘You are languishing—positively pining for mountain air. Everybody is not created with the constitution of a salamander,’ she added, with a contemptuous glance at Daphne, who was sitting in the full glare of the afternoon sun, ‘and for anybody except a salamander this place for the last three days has been almost intolerable. Dearly as I love you all, and delighted as I am to be with you, it has been only the idea of the dust and the heat of the railway that has prevented my going back to Warwickshire.’ Sir Vernon looked uneasily at his beloved daughter. He had kept her a good deal about him; he had let her stay at home to bear him company, when the others were breathing the cool air of the lake, or climbing into the fresher atmosphere of the hills; and now it slowly dawned upon him that his selfishness might have endangered her health. Rhoda was always an alarmist—one of those unpleasant people who scent calamity afar off, and are prescient of coming trouble in the hour of present joy; but it was true that Madoline was pale and languid-looking. She had a fatigued look, and her beauty had lost much of its bloom and freshness. ‘Lina is not looking well,’ he said, glancing at her uneasily; ‘what can we do for you, dear?’ ‘Nothing, father,’ answered Lina, with her gentle smile: ‘there is nothing the matter.’ ‘You told me this morning that you could not sleep last night,’ murmured Mrs. Ferrers. ‘It was a very warm night,’ admitted Lina, vexed at her aunt’s fussiness.