“Yes,” he said, “I am a bad lot; I am not fit to be here with you. I have been dining at my club; but how you knew it, I can’t conceive. And – and – ”
“Don’t tell me any more,” said Lady Bell. “I am sorry that you should have been run over, and I hope you are not hurt. That – that is blood running down your face. Why do you not wipe it off? I can’t bear it.”
“I beg your pardon,” said Jack, and he fumbled for his pocket-handkerchief, which at that moment was lying under the seat in the billiard-room.
“Here, take this,” said Lady Bell, and she put her own delicate lace-edged one in his hand.
Jack mopped his forehead diligently.
“Is it all off?” he asked.
“No, it keeps running,” replied Lady Bell, with a little thrill of horror. “I believe you are much hurt.”
“I’m not; I give you my word,” said Jack. “There – no, I’ll keep it until it’s washed.” And he thrust the delicate cobweb into his pocket.
Lady Bell leaned back, but her eyes wandered now and then to the handsome face, pale through all its tan.
Presently, wonderfully soon, as it seemed to her, the brougham came to a stop, and Jackson, bending down to the window, said:
“Spider Court, my lady.”
“Spider Court,” said Jack. “Then I’m home. I’m very much obliged to you, and I wish I didn’t feel so much ashamed of myself. Hark! who’s that?” for someone had come to the carriage door.
“It is I – Leonard. Is that you, Jack?”
“Yes,” said Jack, and he got out and closed the door. “This lady – ”
Lady Bell leaned out and looked at Leonard Dagle’s anxious face earnestly.
“Your friend has met with an accident,” she said, “and I have brought him home.”
“Thank you, thank you,” sighed Leonard.
“I hope he is not much hurt,” said Lady Bell. “His forehead is cut. Will you – will you be so kind as to let me know if it is anything serious?”
“Anything serious! A mere scratch,” ejaculated Jack, carelessly.
But Lady Bell did not look at him.
“Here is my card,” she said, taking a card-case from the carriage basket. “Will you please let me know? Good-night.”
And she held out her hand.
Leonard did not see it, and merely raised his hat. But Jack, who was nearest, took the hand and held it for a moment.
“Good-night, good-night,” he said. “I shall never forgive myself for causing you trouble.”
And in his earnestness his hand, quite unconsciously, closed tightly on her white, warm palm.
Lady Bell dropped back into her seat, a warm flush spreading over her face; and Mrs. Fellowes, awakened by the stopping of the brougham, exclaimed, with a yawn:
“Home at last!”
“No, miles away,” said Lady Bell. “Go to sleep again, my dear.”
Leonard took Jack’s arm within his, though there was no occasion for it, for Jack was sober enough now, and led him upstairs.
“My dear Jack,” he exclaimed, reproachfully, “what have you been doing?”
“Falling under a cab,” said Jack, gravely.
“A cab!” retorted Leonard; “a lady’s brougham, you mean!”
And he took the card to the light.
“Why!” he exclaimed, with an expression of amazement. “Lady Isabel Earlsley! Good Heaven! that’s the heiress.”
“Eh?” said Jack, indifferently. “What’s her name? She’s a brick, if ever there was one. Oh, Jupiter, I wish I was in bed!”
CHAPTER XVIII
It was Una’s first night in London. Weary as she was she could not find sleep; the dull roar of the great city – which those who are used to take no heed of – rang in her ears and kept her awake. Her brain was busy, too; and even as she closed her eyes the endless questions, which the strange events of the day had given birth to, pursued and tormented her. She could scarcely realize that she had left Warden Forest, that she was here in London, the place of her most ardent dreams! And then how singular, how mysterious was that coincidence which had brought it about.
Until Jack Newcombe, the young stranger, had come to Warden, she had never heard the name of Davenant, and now she was actually living under the roof of Stephen Davenant’s mother.
With half-closed eyes she recalled all that Jack had said about Stephen Davenant, and it did not require much effort to recall anything Jack had said, for every word was graven on her heart, and it had seemed to her as if he had spoken disparagingly of this Stephen, and had implied that he was not as good as he was supposed to be.
She herself, as she lay, her beautiful head pillowed on her round white arm, was conscious of a strange feeling which had taken possession of her in Stephen’s presence – not of dislike, but something of doubt, something also of a vague fear.
And yet he could not but be good and generous, for was it not to him that she owed all that had happened to her? And did not his mother, the timid, gentle woman who had already won Una’s heart, speak of him as great and good?
Alas! and a faint flush stole over her cheek, and a long sigh stole from her lips – alas! it was that other – Jack Newcombe – who was bad; it was he whom she was to avoid.
And so, notwithstanding that she was in the very city of her dreams, she fell asleep with a vague sadness in her heart.
Quiet as Walmington Square is, the noise of the market carts passing to Covent Garden awoke her soon after dawn.
She looked round with a stare of amazement as her eyes fell upon the dainty room, with its costly furniture and rich hangings, and listened for a moment, as if expecting to hear the rustle of the great oaks which surrounded the cottage at Warden; then she remembered the change that had befallen her, and springing out of bed, ran to the window.
All the square was asleep; the blinds were closely drawn in all the houses, and only the birds on the trees seemed thoroughly awake.
She could hear the market carts rumbling in the great thoroughfare beyond, and as she had gone asleep with the rattle of wheels in her ears, she asked herself, wonderingly:
“Does London never rest?”
She remembered that Mrs. Davenant had showed her a bathroom communicating by a door from her own room, and then – with her cold water was as necessary as air – went and had her bath; then she dressed herself, and, opening her door, went downstairs.
To her amazement, all the house seemed wrapped in slumber.
At home, at the cottage at Warden, Gideon and all of them were up with the lark, and life began with the morning sun.
She stole into the drawing-room, and, unfastening the shutters with some little difficulty, opened the window and leaned out to breathe the fresh air; but it seemed as if the air was asleep, too, or, in its journey from the country, had lost itself in the maze of houses, and failed to reach Walmington Square.
Una looked out dreamily, wondering who and what sort of people lived in the huge blocks of dwellings that surrounded her, and wondered, faintly, whether she could be looking at the spot where Jack Newcombe dwelt.
She could not guess that Jack had not come back from Hurst Leigh yet, but was waiting for the squire’s funeral.
Instinctively she turned to the table and took up the album and went back to the window with the book open at the page which contained Jack’s portrait.
How beautiful the face was! And yet, she thought, with a warm glow in her eyes, that she had seen it look still more beautiful, as she had looked down at it the morning he lay sleeping at her feet.
Presently a servant came into the room, and startled at the sight of the white figure by the window, uttered an exclamation.
“Good-morning,” said Una.
Closing the book she came forward and held up her face to be kissed, as she had always done to Mrs. Rolfe.
The maid – a pretty young girl, fresh from Devonshire – stared at her and looked half-frightened, while a crimson flush of embarrassment came into her face.
“Good-morning, miss,” she said, nervously, and hastily turned and fled.
Una looked after her a moment, and pondered; and she would have made a superb study for a painter at that moment.
How had she frightened the pretty girl, and why had she declined to kiss her?
Una could not understand it. Hitherto she had lived only with equals, and could not be expected to guess that it was a breach of the proprieties to kiss this pretty, daintily-dressed little hand-maiden.
As for Mary, the maid, she flew into the kitchen and sank into a chair, gasped at the cook, speechless for a moment.
“What do you think, cook?” she exclaimed, “that young lady – Una, as the mistress calls her – is up already. I found her in the drawing-room, and – and she said ‘Good-morning,’ and came up to me as if she – she wanted me to kiss her.”
“You must be out of your mind, Mary,” said the cook, sternly.
But Mary stuck to her assertion, and at last it was decided that Una was either out of her mind, or that she was no lady.
“And that I am sure she is,” exclaimed Mary, and the other servants assented heartily. “If there ever was a true lady, this one is, whoever or whatever she may be. Perhaps she’s just come from boarding-school.”
But the cook scoffed at the idea.
“Boarding-school!” she exclaimed incredulously. “Do you think they don’t know the difference between mistress and servants there? It’s the first thing that is taught them.”
Meanwhile, quite unconscious of the discussion which her ingenuous conduct had caused, Una wandered about the room, examining, with unstinted curiosity, the exquisite china and valuable paintings, the Collard and Collard grand piano, and the handsomely-bound books.
An hour or two passed in this way; then she heard a bell ring and Mary entered, and, eying her shyly, said:
“Mistress says will you be kind enough to step up to her room, miss.”
Una went upstairs and knocked at Mrs. Davenant’s door, and in answer to the “come in,” entered, and found Mrs. Davenant in the hands of her maid Jane.
Una crossed the room with her swift, light step, and kissed the face turned up to her with a timid, questioning smile on it.
“My child,” exclaimed Mrs. Davenant, “have you been up all night? I sent Jane to your room to help you dress.”
Una started, and a smile broke over her face.
“To help me dress?” she repeated, Jane regarding her with wide open eyes the while. “Why should she do that? I have always dressed myself ever since I can remember.”
Mrs. Davenant flushed nervously.
“I – meant to brush your hair and tie your ribbons – as she does mine; but it does not matter if you would rather not have her.”
“I should not like to trouble her,” said Una.
“And how long have you been up, my dear?”
“Since five,” said Una, quietly.
Mrs. Davenant stared aghast, and Jane nearly dropped the hair-brush.
“Since five! My dear child! Ah! I see, you – you have been used to rising early. I am afraid you will soon lose that good habit. We Londoners don’t rise with the lark.”
“I don’t think there are any larks here,” remarked Una, gravely; “and at this time of the year the lark begins to sing at four. I have often watched him rise from his nest in the grass.”
“My poor child, you will miss the country so much.”
“No,” said Una; “I am so anxious to see the world, you know.”
“Well, we will begin today.”
“Una, you know I wish you to be quite – to be very happy with me. And – and I hope if there is anything that you want you will ask for it without hesitation.”
“Anything I want?” repeated Una, with a smile. “Is it possible that any one could want anything more than is here? There seems to be everything. I was thinking, as you spoke, of what my father would say if he saw this table, with all the things to eat, and the silver and glass.”
“My dear child, this is nothing. I live very simply. If you saw, as you will see, some of the homes of the wealthy, some of the homes of the aristocracy, you would discover that what you deem luxury is merely comfort.”
“I was never uncomfortable at the cottage,” said Una, gravely.
“That is because you were unused to anything better, and – and – you must not speak of the past life too much, Una. I mean to strangers. Strangers are so curious, and – and my son, Stephen, does not wish everyone to know where you come from and how you lived.”
“Does he not? Well, I will not speak of it; but I do not understand – quite – ”
“Neither do I. I am afraid I do not always understand Stephen; but – but I always do as he tells me.”
And she looked up with the anxious, questioning expression which Una noticed was always present when Stephen Davenant was mentioned. Was Mrs. Davenant afraid of her son?
Una mused for a minute in silence; then she looked up and said:
“I ought to do what Mr. Stephen wishes. Do you know what he wants me to do?”
“You are to be companion to me, my dear.”
“I am very fond of fairy tales,” she said; “but I have never read one more strange and beautiful than this.”
“Let me show you how to put on your gloves, dear,” she said. “Yes, you have got a small hand, and a beautifully-shaped one, too. Strange, small hands are a sure sign of high birth.”
“Perhaps I am a princess in disguise. No! I am a woodman’s daughter in the disguise of a princess, that is it.”
Mrs. Davenant looked at her curiously.
“You are not ashamed of being a woodman’s daughter, Una,” she said; “but yet – perhaps the time will come when you will – ”
Una’s opened-eyed surprise stopped her.
“Ashamed?” she echoed, with mild astonishment. “Why?”
“I – I don’t know. Never mind, my dear,” said Mrs. Davenant, as the brougham stopped.
“You are a strange child, and – and you say such strange things so naturally that I am puzzled to know how to speak to you.”
CHAPTER XIX
As the days passed on, Mrs. Davenant grew to understand more fully the innocent but frank and brave nature of the beautiful girl whom her son Stephen had so strangely committed to her charge; grew to understand and to love her, and, bit by bit, her nervousness and timidity wore off in Una’s presence. Insensibly she grew to lean and rely on the girl, who, with all her innocence and ignorance of the world, was so gently calm and self-possessed, and Una, in return, lavished her love upon the timid, shrinking woman.
Mrs. Davenant had heard no word from Stephen; she was accustomed to such silence, and almost dreaded to hear, lest it should be a message tearing Una from her side. She did not know that Stephen was master of Hurst Leigh and all the immense wealth of Ralph Davenant.
Una did not know that Jack Newcombe was back here in London, almost within half an hour of her. When she thought of her father and mother there in Warden, it was always with the confident trust that they were well, for she felt that if it were otherwise, Gideon would somehow let her know. She was quite ignorant that the cottage was empty and deserted.
Indeed, there was not much time for thought. Day after day brought its succession of wonderful sights and experiences, as the little green brougham bore them about town, and Mrs. Davenant showed her all the marvels of the great city.
Una was dazzled, bewildered sometimes: but her instinctive good taste helped her to keep back all extravagant expressions of surprise on her voyage through Fairyland.
One day, however, an exclamation of delight escaped her, as she came in sight of a jeweler’s window, opposite which the brougham had stopped.
To her who had only read of precious stones, and regarded them as objects almost fabulous, the window looked as if it contained the wealth of the Indies and of Aladdin’s palace combined.
They entered and Mrs. Davenant asked to see some ladies’ watches, selected one and a handsome albert, and, with a smile, arranged them at Una’s waist, in which, to her equal amazement, she found a pocket already provided.
Pale with emotion, she could not utter a word, and to hide the tears that sprang into her eyes, turned aside to look at a case containing a magnificent set of brilliants. The jeweler politely unlocked the case, and placed the bracelet in her hand.
“A really magnificent set. It is sold. They were purchased by Lady Isabel Earlsley.”
“Lady Earlsley,” said Mrs. Davenant. “Ah, yes; she is fond of diamonds, is she not?”
“Yes, and of other precious stones, too, madam. She has excellent taste and discrimination. Perhaps you have seen her set of sapphires?”
“No,” said Mrs. Davenant, in her quiet way, “I have met Lady Earlsley, but I have not seen them.”
The jeweler opened an iron safe, and took out a case containing a superb, a unique set of sapphires, and handed them to her.
“This is it – I have it to alter. They are the purest in the world – finer even than her ladyship’s rubies, which are considered, but wrongly, matchless.”
Una stared open-eyed, and the jeweler, pleased by her enthusiasm and admiration, took the set from its case and laid it in her hands.
As Una was bending over them fascinated, a handsome carriage drew up, and the shop door was opened by a footman in rich livery.
Una looked up, and saw a beautiful girl who, pausing in the doorway, stood regarding her.
The eyes of the two girls met, Una’s with an instant frank admiration in her calm depths – a curious, half-amazed, but also admiring stare in the bright, dark eyes of the other.
The jeweler glanced from the new-comer to the gems in Una’s lap, and changed color. Mrs. Davenant started nervously, and turned pale.
With a quick, bird-like, but thoroughly graceful movement, the richly-dressed lady turned, and with a smile of recognition, bowed.
“Mrs. – ” she said, and hesitated.
“Davenant,” said Mrs. Davenant. “How do you do, Lady Earlsley?”
Lady Isabel Earlsley, the great heiress and queen of fashion, held out her hand in her quick, impulsive way, but turned her quick glance on Una, whose eyes had never left the dark, bewitching face.
“Your daughter, Mrs. Davenant?”
Poor Mrs. Davenant trembled with nervous agitation.
“No – no – a young friend, Miss Rolfe,” she answered, tremulously.
Lady Bell went straight up to Una and held out her hand, her eyes fixed on the now flushed face.
“How do you do?” she said, in the almost blunt fashion which her admirers declared so charming, and which, though envious tongues declared an affectation, was a perfectly natural consequence of her early life.
Una put her hand in the delicate white gloved one, and the two women looked at each other for a moment in silence.
Was it possible at that moment that some prophetic instinct whispered to the heart of each that the threads of both their lives were doomed to be entangled together?
Then Una suddenly remembered that she had in her hand the jewels belonging to this young lady, and with a grave smile she put them back in their case.
“You are looking at my sapphires, I see,” said Lady Bell, in a tone which set the soul of the alarmed jeweler at rest. “Do you admire them? Are they fine, do you think?”
Una smiled.
“I do not know. They are very beautiful. I have never seen anything like them before.”
“Really,” said Lady Bell, with a nod; “I don’t care for them. They don’t suit me; there is not enough color in them.” Then, turning to the jeweler, she said, in that quiet tone of command which for the first time fell upon Una’s ears: “Give me the rubies, please.”
The man hastened to hand her a case from the safe, and Lady Bell placed the contents in Una’s lap.
“Ah!” she said, with a smile, as Una’s eyes opened wide with admiration, at once childish and yet dignified, “you are of my opinion, too. But the sapphires would suit you best. I wish I were your husband.”
Una looked up with a smile of grave astonishment; and Lady Bell turned with a light laugh to Mrs. Davenant.
“How puzzled she looks! I mean,” she went on to Una, “that if I were your husband I would give you the sapphire set; though a lover would be more suitable, would it not?”
Then seeing Una’s grave, open-eyed wonder, Lady Bell turned to Mrs. Davenant, and in a low tone, said:
“Who is she, Mrs. Davenant? – has she just come out of a convent? She is simply lovely; her eyes haunt me – who is she?”
Mrs. Davenant stammered, and fidgeted speechlessly.
“Ah!” said Lady Bell, quickly, in the same low tone. “You think I’m rude and ill-bred. They all do when I ask a simple question, or show the slightest interest in anything.” She glanced at Una lingeringly: “I mustn’t ask, I suppose?”
“I – I – she is new to London,” said Mrs. Davenant. “It is her first day – ”
“Her first day!” echoed Lady Bell, her eyes twinkling. “Do you mean that she was never in London before? How I envy her; I who am sick and weary of it! Yes, the glamour is on her; I can see it in her eyes – on her face. She is like some beautiful wild bird who has settled on an inhabited island for the first time, and is marveling at the strange sights and faces – look at her!” and she touched Mrs. Davenant’s arm.
Una, quite unconscious of their scrutiny, was sitting looking dreamily into the street with its ceaseless throng of carriages and people. Lady Bell had hit upon a happy simile; she looked like some beautiful bird, half stupefied by the strange life moving around her.
Mrs. Davenant rose; but Lady Bell, with a gentle pressure, forced her back into her seat.
“Not this minute; leave her for a minute. See what a beautiful picture she makes! New to London! Do you know what will happen when London finds that she is in its midst?”
Mrs. Davenant looked up helplessly. She, too, looked like a bird – like some frightened pigeon in the clutch of a glittering hawk.
“You can’t guess,” went on Lady Bell, with a smile. “Well, it will make a queen of her – all London will be at her feet within a month, and I – I shall be dethroned.”
The last few words were spoken – murmured – almost inaudible, and in a tone that was half sad, half mocking. But suddenly her mood changed; and with a smile that lit up her face, and seemed to dance like a flash of sunlight from eyes to lips and back again, she said:
“At any rate be mine the credit of discovering her. I am the first at the shrine of the new goddess!” and touching Una’s hand with the top of her gloved finger, she said: “Miss Rolfe, Mrs. Davenant has been kind enough to promise to come and see me tomorrow night. Are you fond of dancing?”
“I don’t know,” said Una, with a smile. “I do not know how to dance – ”
“Heavens!” murmured Lady Bell.
“You forget, Lady Bell,” murmured poor Mrs. Davenant.
“Ah, yes, yes; I remember,” said Lady Bell, hastily. “Well, you will come and see how you like it, won’t you?”
Una looked at Mrs. Davenant inquiringly, and Lady Bell looked from one to the other impatiently.
“Do not say ‘No,’ pray, Mrs. Davenant,” she said, with her dark, bright eyes. “I have set my heart upon it, and a disappointment is intolerable. Besides, why should you say ‘No?’ You would like to come?”
“Yes, I should like to come,” said Una gravely.
Lady Bell looked at her as if fascinated.
“From a convent, certainly,” she murmured.
“Then it’s settled. Remember! I shall look for you – shall wait for you with impatience. Mrs. Davenant, I count upon you.”
“But – but I cannot go out, Lady Earlsley – I am in mourning.”
Lady Bell sighed impatiently.
“I am so sorry! I have never set my heart upon anything so much in my life,” she said. “Something tells me that we shall be great friends! Are you fond of jewels, lace, books? – what are you specially fond of?” And she seemed to dazzle Una with her smile. “You shall see them all – everything. Yes, let her come, and I will take such care of her as if she were something too precious to be touched; she shall not leave my side all the evening. Let her come, Mrs. Davenant!”
Mrs. Davenant paled and flushed in turn. What would Stephen say – would he be displeased or gratified? What should she do? She could not resist the half-imploring, half-commanding eyes which Lady Bell flashed upon her, and at last murmured a frightened “Yes.”
With a smile that seemed to set the diamonds scintillating, Lady Bell shook hands with Mrs. Davenant, and taking Una’s, held it for a moment in silence, then, with a sudden gravity, she said:
“Good-bye. I will take care of you. I will be your chaperon. We shall meet again,” and was gone.
So interested and absorbed had she been in Una that she had quite forgotten her purpose in entering the shop, and had gone without another word to the jeweler.
He showed no surprise, however, but smiled complacently as he put the jewels back into their cases, being quite used to Lady Bell’s vagaries, and he bowed Mrs. Davenant and Una out with increased respect and deference.
Lady Bell, attended by the two footmen, entered her carriage, and Mrs. Fellowes, her friend and companion, who had been sleeping peacefully, awoke with a little start.
“Well, my dear, have you got the rubies?”
“The rubies?” said Lady Bell. “No, I quite forgot them.”
“Forgot them!” said Mrs. Fellowes.
“Yes. What are stupid rubies compared with an angel?”
“My dear Lady Bell!” exclaimed Mrs. Fellowes, “what are you talking about?”
Lady Bell leaned back with her hands folded in her lap, and her eyes musingly staring at nothing.
“Yes, an angel,” she repeated. “I never believed in them until today, but I have seen one this morning – in a jeweler’s shop.”
“Lady Bell, how strangely you talk. I am getting alarmed.”
“You always are,” said Lady Bell, coolly. “I repeat, I have seen an angel. You are always trying to flatter me by talking of my beauty and such nonsense; but I have seen today a real beauty. Not a mere pretty pet mortal like myself, but one of the celestials! With eyes like a wild bird’s, and a lady, too, I’ll be sworn!”
“My dear Bell, what language!” murmured Mrs. Fellowes.
“A perfect lady; her hands, her voice would vouch for that. Her voice is like a harp. If I had been a man I should have fallen in love with her on the spot.”
“Fallen in love,” said Mrs. Fellowes. “My dear Bell,” with a politely suppressed yawn, “I am half inclined to think you have taken leave of your senses, and you will drive me out of mine. One night it is a young man whom we nearly run over; a – I must say – a tipsy young man.”
“No; he had only taken too much wine.”
“Well, if that isn’t being tipsy – ”
“Don’t, don’t,” said Lady Bell, pleadingly; “we might have killed him.”
“I don’t know that he would have been much loss to the world at large,” said Mrs. Fellowes.
“Home!” said Lady Bell to the footman; and she sank back with a brilliant flush on her face.
Mrs. Davenant drove home also, and in considerable perturbation. What had she done? What would Stephen say?
Fortunately for that young man’s peace of mind, he was resting at ease at Hurst Leigh, little dreaming that Lady Bell, or any one else, would meet Una, and coax her out of his mother’s nerveless hands.
Una, with quick sympathy, saw that her companion was distressed, and with a gentle touch of her hand, said:
“You do not like me to go to this lady’s house. I will not go. No; I will not go.”
“My dear,” she replied, with a sigh, “it isn’t in our hands now. You don’t know Lady Bell – nor do I very well; but I know enough of her to be convinced that if you do not go tomorrow night, she would come and fetch you, though she left all her guests to do so.”
“Is she then so – so accustomed to having her own way?”
“Always; she always has her own way. She is rich – very, very rich – and petted; and she is even more than that; she – she – I don’t know how to explain myself. Well, my dear, she is a sort of queen of society, and more powerful than many real queens.”
“So that when she commands such as I am I must obey,” said Una, with her low, musical laugh.
“Just so,” said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh. “But you will be careful, my dear. I mean, don’t – don’t let her put you forward, remind her of her promise to keep you at her side.”
“I think I would rather not go.”
“Don’t be frightened, my dear,” said Mrs. Davenant, kindly; but Una’s calm, steady look of response showed her that there was no fear in the young, innocent heart.
“No, I am not frightened,” she said. “I do not know what I am to fear.”
Having consented to Una’s going, Mrs. Davenant lost no time in making the few necessary preparations. She selected a plain but rich evening dress, set her own maid to make the required alterations, selected from her own store a sort of old Honiton, and gave orders that some white flowers should be bought at Covent Garden the next morning.
“White flowers, my dear,” she said, nervously. “Because I – I am not sure that Stephen would not consider that your being in the house with me you are not in mourning. But, then, you are no relation, my dear.”
“I wish I were,” said Una, kissing her.