“Tired of our guests already, Monica?”
“I don’t know—I like to have your friends, and to help to make them enjoy themselves; but I don’t think there is any such happiness as having you all to myself.”
He held her closer to him, and looked with a proud fond smile into her face.
“You feel that too, Monica?”
“Ah, yes! How could I help it?”
He fancied she spoke sadly, and would know why.
“I think I have been sad all day,” she answered; “I am often sad before a storm, when I hear the wind moaning round the house. It makes me think of the brave men at sea, and their wives waiting for them at home.”
There was a little quiver in her voice as she spoke the last words. Randolph heard it, and held her very close to him.
“It is not such a very bad night, Monica.”