They were not very much alone, for Lord Haddon and his sister spent many evenings with them when they were not otherwise engaged, and the intimacy between the two houses increased rapidly.
Monica had never again alluded to the prospective return to Trevlyn—the half-promise made by Randolph to take her back soon. She did not know what “soon” might mean, and she did not ask. She had grown content now to leave that question in his hands.
Once, when in the after-dinner twilight, she had been talking to Beatrice of her old home, the latter said, with eager vehemence:
“How you must long to see it again! How you must ache to be out of this tumult, and back with your beloved sea and cliffs and pine-woods! Don’t you hate our noisy, busy London? Don’t you pine to go back?”
Monica was silent, pondering, as it seemed. She was thinking deeply. When she answered out of the fulness of her heart, her words startled even herself.
“I don’t think I do. I missed the quiet and rest at first, but, you see, my husband is here; I do not pine when I have him.”
Beatrice’s eyes grew suddenly wistful. “Ah, no!” she answered. “I can understand that.”
But after a long silence she rallied herself and asked:
“But is he not going to take you back? Do you not want to see your father and brother again?”
“Yes, if Randolph is willing to take me; but it must be as he likes.”