‘No,’ she said. She had been lying on the sofa, but got up as soon as he came in. ‘You know I hate autumn in London; the fogs kill me. I can’t--I can’t go back to the fogs. Go yourself, James, if you please, and attend all your dear Societies, and hear Mr. Huxley. Take me to Como first, and get me rooms that look on the lake, and hire Abbondio’s boat for me; and then you can go.’ ‘It is likely that I should go,’ he said, ‘without you, my darling! When did I ever leave you? But there are so many comforts at home you can’t have here; and advice--I want advice. You don’t get better so fast as I hoped.’ She looked at him with a strange smile. ‘No; I don’t get better, do I?’ she said. ‘Those doctors tell such lies; but I don’t get worse, James; you must allow I don’t get worse. I am not so strong as I thought I was; I can’t go running about everywhere as I used to do. I am getting old, you know. After thirty I believe there is always a difference.’ ‘What nonsense, Annie! there is no difference in you. You don’t get back your strength----’ ‘That’s it; that’s all. If you were to leave me quite alone and quiet, to recruit now; yes, I think I should like to know that you were in London enjoying yourself. Why shouldn’t you enjoy yourself? Women get worn out sooner than men; and I don’t want to cripple you, James. No; take me to Como--I have taken a fancy to Como--and then you can come back for me whenever you please.’ ‘I am not going to leave you,’ he said, with a sigh. ‘You must not be unreasonable, my darling. What pleasure would it be to me to go home without you? It was you I was thinking of; for me it is all right. I am quite happy here. As for Huxley and the rest, you don’t think I care for them. It was you I was thinking of.’ ‘You said the Societies. Whatever you do, James, speak the truth. I suppose,’ she added, with a laugh which sounded harsh, ‘you are afraid I shall get very ill--die, perhaps, away from home?’ Poor man! what was he to say? ‘Oh, Annie!’ he cried, ‘how you stab me! If I thought anything of the kind, you know I’d have Sir William here to-morrow, or any one, if it should cost me all I have. I know very well there is no danger,’ he went on, taking a certain forlorn comfort out of his own bold words; ‘but you don’t get up your strength as you ought, and knocking about in these bare rooms can’t be good for you; and, living as we are--and you have no maid----’ ‘I hate a maid. I like Gretchen a great deal better. She makes so much of me.’ ‘Then take Gretchen with you, my dearest; take her to Como; keep her with you till you get home.’