“Sweetheart, how lovely you are, and how young and childish you appear by my side! I hope people will not begin to call you an old man’s darling,” Norman said, drawing her within the circle of his arm before the tall mirror and gazing critically upon the reflection therein—the handsome man in manhood’s early prime, and the lovely golden-haired girl whose head just reached his broad shoulder.
“You shall not call yourself old,” she cried, caressing him in her pretty, tender fashion. “How do you like my Worth dress?” she continued, gayly.
“It is adorable!” he replied; but he was looking at her face, not the dainty creation of blue and white.
“Adorable is not exactly the term to apply to a dress, but I will excuse you, as I know it is becoming, and perhaps that makes me adorable.” Thea laughed saucily; then she pushed her white hand through his arm and drew him to the door.
“Let us go down to the drawing-room,” she said. “I am anxious to meet that sweet lady again. I have fallen in love with her at sight.”
“She is very charming, certainly,” he agreed. Then he laughed. “But I suppose I must not fall in love with her, too, or my little wife will be jealous.”
“Jealous of sweet Lady Edith—no, never!” the girl cried, impulsively, her young heart thrilling with affection for the sweet, pensive-faced woman who but a few hours before had been a stranger to her save in name. But to Thea it almost seemed as if she had known Lady Edith years and years.
CHAPTER LI.
“I am tired, Norman, and my head aches. I will not go to the opera to-night,” Thea said, languidly, laying her flushed face down on her husband’s shoulder.
Three weeks had passed since their coming to London, and Thea had tasted all the sweetness and triumph of a triumphal entrance upon society, which had crowned her in her first week with the laurels of belleship. Her husband’s name was already known in London through his popular books, and the brilliant social world immediately made a pet of his lovely girl-bride. Her sparkling beauty, her naïveté, her frank enjoyment of everything created a decided sensation, and Lady Edith’s daily mail was crowded with invitations for herself and guests.