He found his wife dressed, but fallen again on her bed, beside which her breakfast stood still untasted; her smile responded wanly to his brightness.  “I’m not well, my dear,” she said.  “I don’t believe I could get off to the Hague this afternoon.”

“Could you to Liverpool?” he returned.

“To Liverpool?” she gasped.  “What do you mean?”

“Merely that the Cupania is sailing on the twentieth, and I’ve telegraphed to know if we can get a room.  I’m afraid it won’t be a good one, but she’s the first boat out, and—­”

“No, indeed, we won’t go to Liverpool, and we will never go home till you’ve had your after-cure in Holland.”  She was very firm in this, but she added, “We will stay another night, here, and go to the Hague tomorrow.  Sit down, and let us talk it over.  Where were we?”

She lay down on the sofa, and he put a shawl over her.  “We were just starting for Liverpool.”

“No, no we weren’t!  Don’t say such things, dearest!  I want you to help me sum it all, up.  You think it’s been a success, don’t you?”

“As a cure?”

“No, as a silver wedding journey?”

“Perfectly howling.”

“I do think we’ve had a good time.  I never expected to enjoy myself so much again in the world.  I didn’t suppose I should ever take so much interest in anything.  It shows that when we choose to get out of our rut we shall always find life as fresh and delightful as ever.  There is nothing to prevent our coming any year, now that Tom’s shown himself so capable, and having another silver wedding journey.  I don’t like to think of it’s being confined to Germany quite.”

“Oh, I don’t know.  We can always talk of it as our German-Silver Wedding Journey.”

“That’s true.  But nobody would understand nowadays what you meant by German-silver; it’s perfectly gone out.  How ugly it was!  A sort of greasy yellowish stuff, always getting worn through; I believe it was made worn through.  Aunt Mary had a castor of it, that I can remember when I was a child; it went into the kitchen long before I grew up.  Would a joke like that console you for the loss of Italy?”

“It would go far to do it.  And as a German-Silver Wedding Journey, it’s certainly been very complete.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s given us a representative variety of German cities.  First we had Hamburg, you know, a great modern commercial centre.”

“Yes!  Go on!”

“Then we had Leipsic, the academic.”

“Yes!”

“Then Carlsbad, the supreme type of a German health resort; then Nuremberg, the mediaeval; then Anspach, the extinct princely capital; then Wurzburg, the ecclesiastical rococo; then Weimar, for the literature of a great epoch; then imperial Berlin; then Frankfort, the memory of the old free city; then Dusseldorf, the centre of the most poignant personal interest in the world—­I don’t see how we could have done better, if we’d planned it all, and not acted from successive impulses.”