CHAPTER L.
It was in Italy, two months later, that a letter came to the happy bride, reminding her of her promise to go to Lord Stuart’s London house in May.
“My sister has fallen in love with my description of you, Mrs. de Vere, and as she already knows your gifted husband through his clever books, she is most anxious to meet you both, and prides herself on the opportunity of presenting in society this year an author and a beauty. You will not have the heart to disappoint her, I know, so promise us that you will come by the middle of May,” he wrote; and Thea looked questioningly at her husband.
“Shall we go?”
“I thought, my darling, that you had already promised Lord Stuart?”
“So I did—but”—with a swift, passionate glance under the long fringe of her thick lashes—“we have been so happy alone together. Will it be so when we go to London? Will society be as pleasant as this?”
She glanced about her at their pretty private parlor, where they had spent so many happy evenings together, “the world forgetting, by the world forgot,” then she flung her white arms about his neck and gave him an impulsive kiss.
Norman caught her to his breast in a passionate embrace.
“Oh, my little love, how happy you make me!” he whispered in the deep tones of strong emotion; and for a little while Lord Stuart’s letter was quite forgotten in the love-making that ensued.
When the subject came up again, they decided to accept the invitation.