'_Poor Florence_' said he while we passed the bridge.

Certainly there never was such a darling since the world began....

I suffered extremely through our unfortunate election of the Mont Cenis route (much more my own fault than Robert's), and was extremely unwell at Genoa, to the extent of almost losing heart and hope, which is a most unusual case with me, but the change from Lyons had been too sudden and severe.

At Genoa the weather was so exquisite, so absolutely June weather, that at the end of a week's lying on the sofa, I had rallied again quite, only poor darling Robert was horribly vexed and out of spirits all that time, as was natural.

I feel myself, every now and then (and did then), like a weight round his neck, poor darling, though he does not account it so, for his part.