“Has she any children?”
“None. We have only each other. We are the last of our family, and, poor girl! she is often lonely, for I am somewhat of a wanderer, and I have been away from her now six months. I wish she would marry again.”
“Do you think she will?” Thea asked him.
“No,” he answered, and a faint sigh escaped him. “Her heart is buried in her husband’s grave.”
Norman came up at that moment, and Lord Stuart said:
“I have been telling Mrs. de Vere about my sister, trying to awaken such an interest in my relative that she will accept an invitation to visit her in May, when she comes up to our London house for the season.”
Norman smiled, and glanced at Thea, whose blue eyes were full of tender interest.
“She is a widow, and her heart is buried in her husband’s grave. Is it not sad?” she said, sweetly.
“You would think so if you knew her,” said Lord Stuart. “She is not forty yet, though she has been a widow eighteen years, and she is lovely still. It is her own fault that she has never married a second time, for she has had many suitors. But she is romantic enough to suit even you, Mrs. de Vere, and I want you to promise me you will visit us in London.”
“I shall be glad,” she answered.