"I count the minutes till my week is up. I hate mountains; they depress
me to death. I am sure Miss Garland likes them."
"She is very fond of them, I believe."
"You believe--don't you know? But I have given up trying to imitate Miss
Garland," said Christina.
"You surely need imitate no one."
"Don't say that," she said gravely. "So you have walked ten miles this
morning? And you are to walk back again?"
"Back again to supper."
"And Mr. Hudson too?"
"Mr. Hudson especially. He is a great walker."
"You men are happy!" Christina cried. "I believe I should enjoy the
mountains if I could do such things. It is sitting still and having them
scowl down at you! Prince Casamassina never rides. He only goes on a
mule. He was carried up the Faulhorn on a litter."
"On a litter?" said Rowland.
"In one of those machines--a chaise a porteurs--like a woman."
Rowland received this information in silence; it was equally unbecoming
to either to relish or deprecate its irony.
"Is Mr. Hudson to join you again? Will he come here?" Christina asked.
"I shall soon begin to expect him.
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