Inquiry had convinced me that there was but one suitable place to stay at in Kingston--the Myrtle Bank Hotel--and the result proved the wisdom of my choice. While open to some slight criticism--as what hotel is not?--it was on the whole a delightful home to us during our brief stay. There being no more work to do at present I occupied the hours in talks, walks and drives with Marjorie, happy as the butterflies among the roses in the pretty park which separates the hotel from the shore.
We went one day to visit a camp of soldiers in the suburbs, on another to the Constant Spring Hotel, situated six miles from town in a mountain nook, to Castleton Gardens and Hope Gardens, beautiful for situation and high culture, with lovely roads leading to each. Again, we took the train to Spanish Town and drove to Bog Walk, as pretty a bit of scenery as one could desire. And later we passed several days at Mandeville, some fifty miles or so away, a village perched among the hills 2100 feet above the sea, where the scent of coffee flowers and orange blossoms fairly filled the delicious air and the thermometer recorded a degree of heat more grateful than that to be found in the lowlands. I noted the mercury at 70 when I went to bed, at 60 when I rose, and at 75 when the sun was in the zenith. I really do not know another spot more charming in any land, in March or April.
Besides this we visited Montpelier, Montego Bay and Port Antonio, seeing at the latter place a steamer of the Boston Fruit Company setting sail for the Hub with an immense cargo of bananas and oranges. The country thereabout is one field of those fruits, combined with the stately cocoanut palms, while a short distance away tobacco is grown that rivals the famed product of unhappy Cuba. On the 28th we bade farewell to the island, with genuine regret on my part at least, and took the little "Beta" of the Halifax line for Bermuda.
Before we left Kingston a batch of letters was received, some for each of us, and I did not attempt to annoy Marjorie this time by prying into her correspondence. My confidence in her was now at its highest point. She did not write any answers, nor did I, as we were so soon to reach home. After three days in Bermuda we started for America. I saw that, for some reason, she wanted to return, and with the hope that filled my breast I had no wish to prolong our absence.