"Which next world? There are so many. Symeon's for instance, and Father Hammond's. What could be more diverse than those? I have thought very little about the undiscovered country. But you must not say I am not serious about something in this world." "I cannot imagine what that something is." "I hope you will never know. If fact, you are never to know." His earnestness startled her. When a man's dominant note is persiflage any touch of grave feeling is impressive. Vera was silent--and they sat opposite each other for a few moments, she watching the rise and fall of a blue flame in the heap of logs, he watching her face as the blue light flashed upon it for an instant and then left it dark. It was a face worth watching. She had her mermaid look this evening, and her eyes--ordinarily dark grey--looked as green as her sea-water necklace. "How is Provana?" he asked at last; an automatic question, indicating faintest interest in the answer. "Oh, he is very well; but I am afraid he is worried. He stays longer in the City than he used to stay, and he is very grave and silent when we dine alone." "What would you do if the great house of Provana were to go down like a scuttled ship? Would you stick to a bankrupt husband--renounce London and all its pomps and vanities--give up this wilderness of a house and all the splendid things in it?" "Can you suppose the loss of money would change my feeling for him? If you can think that you must think I married him because he was rich." "And didn't you?" "I hate you for the question. When Mario asked me to be his wife I had not a thought of his wealth. I knew that he was a good man, and I was proud of his love." "But you were not in love with him?" "I don't know what you mean. I loved him for his noble character. I was proud of his love." "That is not being in love, Vera. A woman who is in love does not care a jot for her lover's character. She loves him all the better, perhaps, because he is a scoundrel--the last of the last--the off-scouring. There were women in Rome who doted upon Cæsar Borgia; women who knew that he was a poisoner--take my word for it. You liked Provana because he was your first lover, and you were tired of a year in year out _tête-à-tête_ with Grannie." "You know nothing about it. If he were to lose his fortune to-morrow I think I should be rather glad. We could live in Italy. Poverty would bring us nearer together--as we were in our honeymoon year. We should have plenty to live upon with my settlement." She rose and moved towards the door. "It is nearly five, and there will be people coming," she said. The door opened as she spoke, and Lady Susan Amphlett looked in. "Aren't you coming, Vera? There is a mob already, and people want their tea. What are you two talking about, _entre chien et loup_? You look as weird as Mr. Symeon, Claude." "We were talking of Symeon, when Vera began to worry about the people downstairs, who are not half so interesting."