“Thanks for your attention, Gilardoni, but I feel too weary.”
“Indeed, sir, I believe if you were to have a breath of fresh air, it would make all the difference,” Gilardoni urged. “A canter along some of those leafy roads and lanes we saw as we passed in the train would clear the clouds off your brain. Forgive me if I make too free, but I think——”
“What do you think?” demanded his master, a little sharply.
“Well, sir—I hope you won’t be displeased—I think you are weary in mind, not in body.”
Captain Desfrayne looked keenly at his servant for a moment or two, then the expression that had almost attained a frown melted into a sad smile.
“You are not far wrong, Gilardoni,” he said, very quietly. “I have been very much troubled of late by—by business affairs.”
“I trust, sir, you will not consider me intrusive.”
“Certainly not, my good fellow. I think I ought to feel indebted to you for your kindly interest. I will take your advice, and go for a canter before mess.”
His horse was soon waiting for him—the animal being one of the few luxuries Captain Desfrayne permitted himself out of his limited income.
The Italian attended him to the gates of the barracks, and then stood gazing after him with the kind of interest and affection so often seen in the eyes of a faithful, attached Newfoundland dog.