"We have decided," said father, very thin and pale in his armchair, "that children are best left alone, without old people to disturb them. I'm quite all right. In two weeks I shall be younger and better than I have been in twenty years. And I want you and Bill to go away, Mavis. It's time you had your honeymoon, cloudless and solitary, as all honeymoons should be. Old John here has been talking his camp in Canada to me, for an hour steady. And I'm persuaded. I'll get you infants out of the house, and then John and I and that marvelous man-servant of his who is cook and nurse and valet in one person will travel by easy stages and spend a month rusticating in the big woods. "Can't we go too?" I begged, in a sudden panic. "You can _not_!" said Uncle John and father in one breath. I turned a little helplessly to my husband. "They don't want us!" I said. "And we don't want them!" he answered smiling. "You and I are going to Cuba. Just as soon as you can get ready. I've been talking to your father and he agrees with me that the absolute change will do you all the good in the world." "Cuba!" "Exactly. There is a perfectly good plantation there just waiting for us." "But...." I said, sparring for time, "I couldn't leave Sarah." Father laughed outright. "You baby!" he said, caressingly. "You won't have to," said Bill. "She needs a rest as much as you do. She's coming along--and so is your friend Peter. We can't leave him behind, and Mr. Goodrich has to sail for Spain sooner than he expected. I saw him this morning." I was too amazed for words. And over my defenceless head the affair was settled. Canada for father and Uncle John; Cuba for Sarah, Peter, Bill, and me. A thousand protests, the old rebellious anger at having my life settled and ordered for me, rushed over me again. But father's eyes were on me and I choked back my resentment. "Cuba it is!" I said, forcing a smile. And so, after the maze of packing, of sending Sarah to New York for summer clothes--in the dead of winter!--after the farewells and the blessings and the thought-deadening hurry and bustle--Cuba it was. CHAPTER IX It was decided that my husband and I should go to New York by motor, spending the night with his uncle, Peter and Sarah to join us the following day, so that the last packing could be leisurely attended to before we sailed. I had my farewells with father alone. Dr. Denton went in first and came out looking more moved than I believed possible. If I could have liked him at all, it would have been for his devotion to my father. I can't write about how dear father was when he told me good-by. John Denton went up to town with us. I begged him to, and he very naturally attributed my nervousness and pallor to the long strain of my father's illness. He was very good to me.