Letty followed her and ascended to her room,--there to collect her ideas and make plans. She would be glad to go, and yet here was the old weakness--sorry. At Les Plans she had outward peace, occupation, her walks, her books, and her letters from Lancelot. These were mere pleasant epistles, such as a man would send to a woman-friend, aunt, or sister-in-law, yet how she treasured them. Accounts of balls and race meetings, she read them over and over again, jealously searching for a clue to some girl, the happy, happy, fortunate girl, who would one day, take her place.--Then she loved Switzerland and its beautiful scenery--with the affection of a native. Cara, on the contrary, hated the country and expressed herself to her mother with scornful vehemence. “I loathe these blue skies, blue mountains, blue lake,” she announced. “They give me the blues! As for the wonderful view, you rave about, I’d sooner look at a picture postcard--_much_ less fag!” Letty presently sat down at her deal table, and wrote to Mrs. Hesketh. “Do try and come at once, best of friends, for I want you urgently; and you know you promised to be here this month, _sans faute_. Frau Hurter has just given me notice to leave in September. Cara is now a young lady, and full of ideas and ambitions. I implore you to advise me, as to what will be best for her? where we are to live? and what we are to do?” Meanwhile Cara and Fritz had gone upon the lake in a superior new boat--a recent purchase. As he rowed towards the Nasen, and she reclined luxuriously in the stern, he told her of his mother’s plans respecting himself and Gertrud, to which news Cara listened with loud, derisive laughter, and a beaming face. He also related how he was to lead a pastoral life on the farm of a patriarchal relative--in order to learn all the new methods. “But when I come back in September you will be here, Mitli, won’t you?” “Why, of course,” she answered impatiently. “Am I not always here?” “And you will write often--often--as before? Swear it!” “Yes--often.” “If I thought you would ever care for anyone else,”--and here the passion of jealousy flamed in his Italian eyes--“I’d kill myself--if I had the least doubt of _you_--I’d”--and he paused and leant on his oars, and stared at Cara fiercely--“I’d upset the boat, and drown us both, yes, in five minutes!” “Don’t talk nonsense, Fritz! You know I am fond of you. As to the drowning--you forget that I can swim!” “Not if you are out here in the middle,--and in your clothes--the water is too cold, and as to the depth, the lake is bottomless.” “Don’t talk like this, it bores me!” said Cara,--secretly uneasy for all her sang-froid. She was aware that Fritz was capable of mad, rash actions, carried out on the impulse of the moment. To-day he looked strange, very strange! The veins on his forehead stood out like cord, and there was an odd light in his eyes.