But Monica’s peace of mind was less easily recovered. At home she was grave and sad, and he thought her cold; and the full and entire reconciliation—of which, indeed, at that time she would have felt quite unworthy—was not to be yet. Each was conscious of deep love on his or her own side, but could not read the heart of the other, and feared to break the existing calm by any attempt to ruffle the surface of the waters. 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.” “He will like what will please you best.” Monica smiled a little. “No; he will like what is best, and I shall like it too.” Beatrice studied her face intently. “Do you know, Monica, that you have changed since I saw you first?” Monica passed her hand across her brow. What a long time it seemed since that first meeting in the park! “Have I?” “Yes. Do you know I used to have a silly fancy that you did not much care for Randolph? It was absurd and impertinent, I know; but Haddon had brought such a strange account of your sudden wedding, called you the ‘snow bride,’ and had somehow got an idea that it had all been rather cold and sad—forgetting, of course, that the sadness was on account of your father’s health. I suppose I got a preconceived idea; and do you know, when first I knew you I used to think of you as the ‘snow-bride,’ and fancy you very cold to everyone—especially to Randolph; and now that I see more of you and know you better, it is just as plain that you love him with all your heart and soul.”