Beyond These VoicesBraddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
General
Beyond These Voices
Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)
Fiction
"Why did not you tell me of your past life? I have told you everything
about mine."
"Because you had only nice innocent things to tell. My story would not
bear telling--and why should you want to know?"
"There should not be a wall between friends--such friends as we have
been--like brother and sister."
"Do brothers tell old love stories? Stale, barren stories of loves that
are dead?"
"Perhaps not. I oughtn't to have spoken about it. Come and talk to Aunt
Mildred. Her carriage has been announced, and she'll be huffed if we
don't go to her."
Claude followed meekly, and in five minutes Lady Okehampton had
forgotten that it was eleven o'clock, and that her horses had been
waiting half an hour. He had a curious power of making women pleased
with themselves, and with him. He always flattered them; but his
flattery was so discreet and subtle as to be imperceptible. It was
rather his evident delight in being with them and talking to them that
pleased, than anything that he said.
"Come to River Mead for next Sunday. It will be my last week-end party
before we go to Scotland," Lady Okehampton said to him before she bade
good night. "Vera and Susan are coming. We shall be a small party, and
there will be plenty of bridge."
Claude accepted the invitation as he took Lady Okehampton to her
carriage.
"I wish Provana were not so much away from his wife," she said. "It is
a very difficult position for Vera."
"Vera is not _la première venue_. She knows how to take care of
herself."
"That's what they always say about women; but is it true in her case?
She is very young, and rather simple, and knows very little of the
world."
"Not after six years as the wife of a financial Croesus?" murmured
Claude, while he arranged the matron's voluminous mantle over her
shoulders as carefully as if the outside atmosphere had been arctic.
He knew that the drift of her speech had been by way of warning for
him. Dear, inconsistent soul! It was so like her to invite him to spend
three days with her niece in the _sans gêne_ of a riverside villa, and
five minutes afterwards to sound a note of warning.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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