"As soon as you get stronger we will go on. It 's too hot and uncomfortable here for any one to stay."
"Go on where?" the colonel asked, with the light of interest in his eyes.
"Farther east. It will be cool enough there. We can go to one of those seaside places you read about in the papers—a cheap one, I mean. We have plenty of money for the trip."
The colonel moved restlessly in his chair, and finally twitched open one of the shutters. The hot breath of the garden, laden with heavy exotic scents, puffed in through the opening like incense.
"Don't take me farther away, Viola," he said suddenly, in a tone like that of a querulous child; "don't take me out of California."
"Do you want to stay here?" she asked.
"If we can't go back," he answered, looking at her wistfully.
"I did n't think you minded," she said; "I thought you 'd like the change."
There was something of the old gentle fellowship in her tone, and it made the colonel's heart expand. He held out his hand to her, and taking her fingers, rubbed them against his cheek.
"I 'm too old to be transplanted now."
She stood beside him, looking down, evidently troubled.
