Beyond These Voices

by M. E. Braddon

"And then?" she asked gently, seeming sure there would be something else.

"Then I walked up Regent Street—it was a fine bracing afternoon—from the Gallery to the 'Langham,' and along Portland Place."

"And you had tea with Vera Provana?"

"No—not tea. There is no tea worth tasting out of this room. There was a mob as usual at the Provanas'—and I slipped away."

"Was Signor Provana there?"

"Not he. He was last heard of in Vienna. But I believe he is coming home next week."

"An unsatisfactory husband for a young thing like Vera," said Mrs. Rutherford, with a faint cloud on her thoughtful face.

Claude knew that look of vague trouble. It was often on his mother's forehead when she spoke of Vera.

"I don't think women ought to call him unsatisfactory. He is the most indulgent husband I know. He adores his wife, and she reigns like a queen in that great house of his—and in their Roman villa."