And you had a serious illness .-- Did Mr.Rolfe tell you, Mamma dear, that he nearly died at some miserable roadside inn ?' Mrs.Frothingham looked startled, and declared she knew nothing of it.
Harvey, obliged to narrate, did so in the fewest possible words, and dismissed the matter.
'I suppose you have had many such experiences,' said Alma.

'And when do you start on your next travels ?' 'I have nothing in view.

I half thought of going for the winter to a place in North Wales--Carnarvonshire, on the outer sea.' The ladies begged for more information, and he related how, on a ramble with a friend last spring (it was Basil Morton), he had come upon this still little town between the mountains and the shore, amid a country shining with yellow gorse, hills clothed with larch, heathery moorland, ferny lanes, and wild heights where the wind roars on crag or cairn.
'No railway within seven miles.

Just the place for a pedant to escape to, and live there through the winter with his musty books.' 'But it must be equally delightful for people who are not pedants!' exclaimed Alma.
'In spring or summer, no doubt, though even then the civilised person would probably find it dull.' 'That's your favourite affectation again.

I'm sure it's nothing but affectation when you speak scornfully of civilised people.' 'Scornfully I hope I never do.' 'Really, Mamma,' said Alma, with a laugh, 'Mr.Rolfe is in his very mildest humour today.