Francie was called, and left Mr. White’s description to be unutterable.

The two elder ladies spent the day together, and Mrs. Grinstead then heard that Jane Mohun had written, that both Lord Ivinghoe and Lady Phyllis Devereux were recovering from the influenza, and that Lord Rotherwood had had a slight touch of the complaint.

“It is a very serious thing in our family,” said Adeline, with all the satisfaction of having a family, especially with a complaint, and she began to enumerate the victims of the Devereux house and her own, only breaking off to exclaim, “I really shall write at once to beg them all to come here for the rest of the winter, March winds and all.  My cousin Rotherwood has never been here, and they might be quite quiet among relations.  So unlike a common health resort.”

Mrs. White’s hospitable anticipations were forestalled.  The party came home from San Remo in high spirits.  They had met Lord Rotherwood and his son in the street, they had been greeted most warmly, and brought to luncheon at the villa, where they found not only Lady Rotherwood and Phyllis, but Mysie Merrifield.

It was explained that their London doctor had strongly advised immediate transplantation before there was time to catch fresh colds, and a friend of the Marchioness, who permanently possessed a charming house at San Remo, had offered it just as it was for the spring.  The journey had been made at once, with one deviation on Lord Rotherwood’s part, to beg for Mysie, as an essential requisite to his “Fly’s” perfect recovery.  A visit had been due before, only deferred by the general illness, and no difficulty was made in letting it be paid in these new and delightful scenes.  Phyllis had been there before.  She was weak and languid, and would much rather have stayed at home, except for seeing Mysie’s delight in the mountains and the blue Mediterranean, which she dimly remembered from her infancy at Malta.  Only she made it a point of honour not to allow that the sea was bluer than the bay of Rockquay.

Ivinghoe was looking ill and disgusted, but brightened up at the sight of the visitors, and his mother, who thought Monte Carlo too near, though she had kept as far from it as possible, accepted the more willingly Mr. White’s cordial invitation to come and spend a day or two at Rocca Marina.  Trifles were so much out of the good lady’s focus of vision that the possible dangers in that quarter never occurred to her, though Maura was demurely bridling, and Francie, all unawakened, but prettier than ever, was actually wearing a scarlet anemone that Ivinghoe had given to her.