LVII.

Kenby did not come to the Swan before supper; then he reported that the doctor had said Rose was on the verge of a nervous collapse.  He had overworked at school, but the immediate trouble was the high, thin air, which the doctor said he must be got out of at once, into a quiet place at the sea-shore somewhere.  He had suggested Ostend; or some point on the French coast; Kenby had thought of Schevleningen, and the doctor had said that would do admirably.

“I understood from Mrs. Adding,” he concluded, “that you were going. there for your after-cure, Mr. March, and I didn’t know but you might be going soon.”

At the mention of Schevleningen the Marches had looked at each other with a guilty alarm, which they both tried to give the cast of affectionate sympathy but she dismissed her fear that he might be going to let his compassion prevail with him to his hurt when he said:  “Why, we ought to have been there before this, but I’ve been taking my life in my hands in trying to see a little of Germany, and I’m afraid now that Mrs. March has her mind too firmly fixed on Berlin to let me think of going to Schevleningen till we’ve been there.”

“It’s too bad!” said Mrs. March, with real regret.  “I wish we were going.”  But she had not the least notion of gratifying her wish; and they were all silent till Kenby broke out: 

“Look here!  You know how I feel about Mrs Adding!  I’ve been pretty frank with Mr. March myself, and I’ve had my suspicions that she’s been frank with you, Mrs. March.  There isn’t any doubt about my wanting to marry her, and up to this time there hasn’t been any doubt about her not wanting to marry me.  But it isn’t a question of her or of me, now.  It’s a question of Rose.  I love the boy,” and Kenby’s voice shook, and he faltered a moment.  “Pshaw!  You understand.”

“Indeed I do, Mr. Kenby,” said Mrs. March.  “I perfectly understand you.”

“Well, I don’t think Mrs. Adding is fit to make the journey with him alone, or to place herself in the best way after she gets to Schevleningen.  She’s been badly shaken up; she broke down before the doctor; she said she didn’t know what to do; I suppose she’s frightened—­”

Kenby stopped again, and March asked, “When is she going?”

“To-morrow,” said Kenby, and he added, “And now the question is, why shouldn’t I go with her?”

Mrs. March gave a little start, and looked at her husband, but he said nothing, and Kenby seemed not to have supposed that he would say anything.

“I know it would be very American, and all that, but I happen to be an American, and it wouldn’t be out of character for me.  I suppose,” he appealed to Mrs. March, “that it’s something I might offer to do if it were from New York to Florida—­and I happened to be going there?  And I did happen to be going to Holland.”

“Why, of course, Mr. Kenby,” she responded, with such solemnity that March gave way in an outrageous laugh.