When the young wife began to get better the clever physician ordered her husband to take her back to Italy to recuperate.
“She has had quite enough of dancing and flirting and damp, muggy air for the present; now she must have some months of rest and quiet,” he said, in his autocratic way that nobody dreamed of disputing—least of all Norman de Vere, to whom he had revealed a fact that made the strong man’s pulses beat high with joy, while it increased, if possible, his love and devotion for his beautiful bride. The hope that Camille had disappointed long ago was to be realized at last. There would be a child to perpetuate the name of De Vere.
Lady Edith wept quietly at the news.
“It recalls old days to me,” she said, pathetically.
CHAPTER LII.
Norman de Vere lost no time writing his mother the joyful news about Thea. He knew that it would make her very happy.
He was not disappointed, for soon there came a letter from her breathing all her pleasure at the good news, and expressing her hope that they would come home soon, so that she could give her darling Thea a mother’s care.
“I should like to go,” Thea said, thinking longingly of beautiful Verelands. Since she had left London and Lady Edith she had grown homesick.
“Are you tired of Italy?” Norman asked, in some surprise.
“No, I am not tired; only when one is sick one misses home,” she said. “And your dear mother, she must be lonely without us.”