brilliant radiance of her beauty, and yet the faithful attendant was not certain that she liked the change in her. [187] Randolph detected it the moment [188]he entered the room, and found his wife equipped for the proposed ride. [188] “Why, Monica,” he said, smiling, “you have got quite a colour. It looks natural to see you dressed for the saddle.” “Yes,” she answered, coolly: “we must turn over a new leaf now, must we not? You will be dying of ennui cooped up at home so long. Let us go out and enjoy ourselves. We must learn to do in Rome as Rome does.” Randolph felt one keen pang of disappointment that the first return to health and strength should have brought a return of the former coldness and aloofness; but he had gained ground before, and why not now? Could he expect to win his way without a single repulse? So he took courage, and tried to ignore the change he saw in his wife. [189] [189] He led her down the staircase to the hall door where the horses were waiting, and he saw the sudden flash of joyful recognition that crossed her face. “Guy!” she exclaimed, “my own little Guy!” Yes, there could be no mistake about it; it was her own little delicate thorough-bred, standing with ill-repressed excitement at the door, his glossy neck arched in a sort of proud impatience, his supple limbs trembling with eagerness, as he stepped daintily to and fro upon the pavement. He turned his shapely head at the sound of Monica’s voice, pricked his ears, and uttered a low whinney of joyful recognition. “It was good of you to think of it, Randolph,” she said, a softer light in her eyes as she turned them towards her [190]husband. “It is like a little bit of home having him.” [190] “I thought you would like him better than a stranger, though I have his counterpart in the stable waiting for you to try. He has been regularly exercised in Piccadilly every morning, and I coaxed him to let me ride him once myself in the Park, though he did not much like it. I don’t think he will be very troublesome
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