White and haggard, Stephen stood in shadow-way, his eyes fixed on Jack and Una with an expression of mingled astonishment and rage beyond all description.
Jack was too astonished by what seemed as much an apparition as a reality, to withdraw his arm from round Una’s waist, and it was she who first recovered self-possession enough to cross over to Mrs. Davenant and wake her.
Her movement seemed to recall Stephen to a sense of the situation, and in a moment he rose and coped with it.
Another man, a weaker man, coming thus suddenly upon what looked like the wreck of all his deeply-laid plans, upon seeing the girl, whom it was all-important he should secure for himself, in the arms of the man he hated and feared most in the world, would have given vent to his wrath and disappointment. But not so Stephen. By a vast effort, he suppressed the evil glance in his eyes, forced a smile to his compressed lips, and came across the room with outstretched hand and an expression of warmest and most affectionate greeting.
“My dear Jack!” he exclaimed, in his soft tones, almost rough in their warmth and geniality. “Now, this is a pleasant surprise. How do you do? how do you do?”
But almost before Jack knew it, Stephen had seized him by the hand, and was swinging it convulsively, smiling so that all his teeth glittered and shone in the candle-light.
Jack was taken by surprise, and returned the greeting cordially; indeed, what else could he do, seeing that hewas in Stephen’s mother’s house, and making love to Stephen’sprotegee?
“Quite a surprise!” said Stephen, laughing; and then, still talking to Jack, he crossed over and bent down to kiss his mother. “How do you do, my dear mother? Now don’t be angry at my taking you so unexpectedly.”
“Angry, my dear Stephen!” faltered Mrs. Davenant; and indeed, it was not anger so much as fear that shone in the timid eyes.
Then, having got himself completely under control, Stephen raised his eyes to Una, and held out his hand.
“And how do you do, Miss Rolfe? I hope your health has not suffered in this close London of ours. May I say that there are no signs of such an ill result in your face?”
Una gave him her hand, and smiled at him in her quiet, grave way.
“I am very well, thank you,” she said.
“That’s right,” said Stephen—“that’s right!”
And he stood and looked from one to the other, rubbing his white, soft hands, and smiling as if he were over-running with the milk of human kindness.
Meanwhile Mrs. Davenant had risen, and was fluttering about nervously.
“Have you dined, Stephen? We can get some dinner, or—or something directly.”
“My dear mother, I dined at my rooms two hours ago; but if you have a cup of tea, now; but don’t trouble—it does not matter in the slightest.”
Fresh tea was brought in, and Una, as usual, officiated. Stephen, leaning over a chair-back, talked to Jack and Mrs. Davenant, but his eyes turned continually on the graceful figure and the beautiful profile; and not one of them guessed the rage and fury which boiled and simmered under his calm and amiable exterior.
Already, as if some one had told him, he knew that Una had been out into the world. Her dress, her manner told him that; and while he smiled lovingly at his mother, he was crying out inwardly:
“Fool! fool! to trust Una to her.”
He took his cup of tea, his hand as steady as a rock, and chatted with Jack, full of the pleasantest interest.
Where had he been, and what had he been doing? and was he in those eccentric but charming rooms of his in the Temple still? and how was his friend Leonard Dagle?
He was full of questions, questions which Jack answered in his curt, brief fashion. And all the while Stephen was weighing the situation, realizing all its danger and peril, and determining on a course of action.
“Just one more cup, Miss Rolfe, if you please. Tea is my favorite beverage—I am quite an old washerwoman!”
Then he took his cup, and sat down beside her.
“Yes,” he said, not in a particularly low tone, but in his softest manner—“yes, I am glad to see that your health has not suffered in London. I trust you have been happy?”
Una looked up with a faint flush on her face.
“I have been—I am very, very happy,” she said, and Jack’s face flushed too with the delight at the accent on “I am.”
“That is right,” said Stephen, with the air of an old, old friend, “and I hope my mother has found some amusement for you—that she has shown you something of the great world.”
“Yes,” said Una, and she glanced at Mrs. Davenant, from whose pale face all traces of the calm serenity which had reigned there during the earlier part of the evening had entirely fled—“yes, I have been very gay—is not that the word? I have been to a ball, and to a picnic, and have seen all the sights.”
“And where was the ball?”
“At Lady Earlsley’s,” said Una.
Stephen opened his eyes and smiled.
“My dear Miss Rolfe, you have penetrated the most exclusive of social rings! Lady Earlsley’s! Come, that is very satisfactory; and Jack—Jack is my cousin—well, very nearly cousin, you know, I hope he has made himself useful and agreeable?”
Una glanced shyly and gravely at Jack—a glance that told everything, even if Stephen had not seen her in Jack’s arms.
“Yes,” she said, in a low voice, “Mr. Newcombe has been very—kind.”
Stephen smiled and showed all his teeth.
“I am afraid there will be nothing left for me to do,” he said.
Then, in a lower voice, he added:
“You will be glad to hear that I have news of your father.”
Una looked up breathlessly. The question had been hovering on her lips.
Stephen nodded.
“Yes, he wrote me from a place in Surrey called—tut—tut! The name has escaped me! They are quite well, and send their fondest love.”
Una’s eyes filled.
“Why did they leave the cottage so suddenly?” she said.
“Because your father wished for a change. I told you truth, you see, when I said that your departure would be good for him, and wean him from his seclusion.”
“Why does he not come to see me?” asked Una.
“He is coming, my dear Una,” said Stephen. “But at present he is very much engaged, and quite satisfied with my favorable report of your health and happiness. But come, I must not make you homesick. Were you not playing when I came in?”
Una flushed.
“Jack—Mr. Newcombe—was playing,” she said; “I was singing.”
“Pray don’t let me interrupt you,” said Stephen, genially, “or I shall feel like an intruder, and walk off again. Jack, go on with your music, my dear fellow.”
But Jack declined promptly, though politely.
“I’m afraid I must be off,” he said, looking at his watch, and then at Una, wistfully.
“Not yet,” said Stephen. “I have a whole budget of news to tell you. I dare say you wonder why I haven’t been up before this; but there was so much to do—a surprising deal.”
Jack nodded curtly. He certainly didn’t want to finish up this particular evening by hearing Stephen’s talk of the Hurst.
“No doubt,” he said. “You must come and dine with me and tell me. Good-night, Mrs. Davenant!”
Mrs. Davenant gave him her hand.
“Must you go, Jack?” she said, tremulously. “You—you will come again?”
“Most certainly I will,” said Jack, significantly.
Una had risen and gone to the piano to gather up the music which Jack, with his usual untidiness, had scattered about.
He followed her, and knelt down as if to help her.
“Good-night, my darling!” he murmured, touching her arm caressingly. “Don’t be afraid.”
Una raised her arm and touched it with her lips.
“Afraid—of whom?”
“Of—nobody!” said Jack, rather ungrammatically.
“Not of Mr. Davenant, who has been so kind?” she whispered, with a surprised look.
Jack bit his lip.
“No, no; certainly not. Oh, yes, he has been kind.”
Then with a long, loving look into her sweet face he crossed the room.
“Good-night, Stephen.”
“You are really going? Well, then, I’ll go with you,” said Stephen. “Mother will not mind my running away tonight, I am rather tired.”
And he stooped and kissed her, and went to the door.
It almost seemed as if he had forgotten Una; but he turned suddenly and held out his hand, a bland, benevolent smile on his pale face.
“Good-night, good-night,” he murmured, softly, and followed after Jack, who, the moment he reached the pavement, looked out for a hansom; but Stephen linked his arm in Jack’s, and said:
“Are you in a hurry, my dear Jack? If not, I’ll walk a little way with you; or will you come toward my rooms?”
Jack consented to the latter course, by turning in the direction of the “Albany” in silence.
He felt that Stephen was playing a part—why or wherefore he could not guess—and now that he had recovered from his surprise at Stephen’s sudden appearance, his old mistrust and dislike were returning to him.
They walked on in silence for some few moments, then Stephen said:
“I wanted to have a few words with you, my dear Jack.I should have written, but I felt that I could make myself understood better by word of mouth.”
Jack nodded.
“Of course, what I have to say concerns my poor uncle’s death and its consequences.”
Jack was silent still. He would not help him in the slightest.
“I cannot but feel that those consequences, while they have been distinctly beneficial to me, have—and to put it plainly, and I wish to speak plainly, my dear Jack—have been unfortunate for you.”
“Well,” said Jack, grimly.
“Well,” said Stephen, softly, “I had hoped, I still hope, that you will allow me the happiness of setting right, to some extent, the wrong—yes, I will say wrong—done you by my uncle’s will.”
“That’s impossible,” said Jack, gravely.
“But, my dear Jack, why not? It is my right. Have you any idea of the fortune——”
“Not the slightest,” said Jack, breaking in abruptly, “and it’s no business of mine; large or small, I hope you’ll enjoy it. It was the squire’s to do as he liked with, and I suppose he did as he liked; and there’s an end of it.”
Stephen winced and bit his lip.
“And now,” said Jack, quietly, but with his heart beating wildly, “I want a word with you, Stephen.”
“Say on, my dear Jack. If there is anything I can do for you——”
“Yes, there is,” said Jack. “I want to know—I want you to tell me—something respecting Miss Rolfe.”
“Miss Rolfe!” said Stephen, softly.
“Yes,” continued Jack. “You’ll want to know, before I go any further, on what grounds I ask for information. I’ll tell you. I have asked Miss Rolfe to be my wife.”
Stephen feigned a start of astonishment.
“My dear Jack, isn’t that rather sudden—rather premature?”
“It may be sudden, I don’t know whether it is premature; that’s for Miss Rolfe to decide. And she has decided.”
Stephen moistened his lips; they burned like coals.
“She has accepted you?”
“She has,” said Jack, who felt reluctant to utter one word more than was necessary.
Stephen pulled up and held out his hand.
“My dear Jack, I congratulate you. I congratulate you,” he exclaimed, fervently. “You are indeed a happy man.”
Jack, confounded, allowed his hand to be wrung by the soft, white palm that burned hot and dry.
“You are a lucky fellow, my dear Jack. Miss Rolfe is one in a thousand. I question if there is a more beautiful girl in London—and her disposition. You are indeed a lucky fellow.”
“Thanks, thanks!” said Jack, still overwhelmed by this flood of good will. “And now, perhaps you will tell me what I had better do in the affair! You see I find her visiting—settled, rather, at your mother’s house, and neither she nor your mother seem to know why or wherefore——”
Stephen interrupted him with a pressure of the arm.
“I understand, my dear Jack; your anxiety for information is only natural. I am very glad I came up this evening—very glad! And now, as I feel rather tired, would you mind coming up to my rooms? and we’ll have a hansom, after all.”
Jack hailed a cab, and they were rattled to the Albany.
Of course they could not talk, and Stephen had therefore time to perfect his scheme; for he had already begun to plot and plan.
The door of the chambers was opened by Slummers, his tall, square figure dressed in black, his discreet, shifty eyes absolutely veiled under his lids.
“Let us have some Apollinaris and the liquor-case, Slummers,” said Stephen, “and that box of cigars which Mr. Newcombe liked. Sit down, my dear Jack.”
And he wheeled forward a chair facing the light, and took one for himself, so that his own face should be shaded.
Jack looked round the room while Slummers brought the tray.
The four walls were nearly covered with books, all of them of the dryest and most serious kind. Where any spacewas left, it was filled up with portraits of eminent divines and philanthropists, and every article in the room was neatly and methodically arranged. In fact, it presented as marked a contrast to Jack’s rooms as it was possible to conceive.
Jack had not been inside it for years, but he remembered distinctly how he used to loathe the room and its “fixings.”
“Now, my dear Jack, pray help yourself—those cigars I know you approve; I heard you praise them at the Hurst, and I brought a box at once.”
“Thanks,” said Jack, and he lit a cigar.
Stephen mixed the Apollinaris and brandy; and leaned back serene and amiable.
“And now, my dear Jack, I am ready to answer all questions.”
Jack looked down and frowned thoughtfully. He did not know how to put them. Stephen smiled maliciously behind his hand.
“You want to know how it comes about that Miss Rolfe is under my mother’s charge—under my charge, I may say?”
“Under yours?” said Jack, grimly.
Stephen nodded.
“It is a very simple affair, Jack. There is no mystery. The fact is, I have known Miss Rolfe’s father for some years. He is a very good fellow, but very eccentric.”
“I know,” said Jack; “I’ve seen him.”
Stephen started, and concealed his expression of surprise by reaching for his glass.
“Ah, then, no doubt, you noticed that his appearance and manner does not correspond with the station he occupies?”
“I did,” said Jack.
“Yes, yes, just so. Well, my dear Jack, my poor friend Rolfe has been in early life unfortunate—money matters, which I never quite understand. Like most men of his kind, he got disgusted with the world and hid himself—there is no other word for it. But it is one thing to hide yourself and quite another to bury your children. My friend Rolfe felt this when he awoke to the fact that his daughter had grown from a child to a young woman, andlike a sensible man he applied to one who was conversant with the world, and one in whom he could have, I trust, full confidence—my self.”
Jack sat silently regarding the white, calm face with grim, observant eyes.
“He did not appeal to an old friendship in vain. I undertook the charge of Miss Rolfe on one condition. I may say two—one on her side, one on mine. Hers was that she should live with my mother, under her protecting wing, as it were; mine was that I should be the absolute guardian of the young girl committed to my charge.”
Jack stared.
“You are Una’s guardian?” he said, at last, with unconcealed surprise, as Gideon Rolfe’s curse upon the race of Davenants flashed upon his memory.
Stephen Davenant smiled.
“You are surprised, my dear Jack. But think! It is very natural. Unless I had unquestionable control over the young lady, how could I answer for her safety? How guard her against the attacks of fortune hunters——”
Jack started.
“Fortune hunters!” he exclaimed. “Do you mean to say that Una is an heiress?”
Stephen’s face had flushed and turned deadly pale.
He had actually been thinking of Una Davenant while he had been talking of Una Rolfe.
“You did not hear me out, my dear Jack,” he said, softly, recovering his composure instantly. “I was going to say against the attack of fortune hunters who might besiege her under the impression that, as my ward, she would be possessed of wealth, instead of being, as you know, absolutely penniless.”
Jack nodded.
“At any rate,” he said, grimly, “I was not so deceived.”
“My dear Jack!” exclaimed Stephen, reproachfully, “do you suppose that I do not know that! You, who are the soul of honor and disinterestedness, are not likely to be mistaken for a fortune hunter by anyone, least of all by me, who know and love you so well!”
Jack winced, as the vision of Lady Bell rose before his eyes.
“Go on,” he said, impatiently.
“Well, my dear Jack,” said Stephen with a smile, and rubbing his hands softly, “is it not rather for you to go on? I am Una’s guardian, you are her lover.”
“I see,” said Jack, rising and pacing up and down the room. “You want me to ask your consent formally. Well, I do so.”
Stephen laughed as if at an excellent joke.
“What a grim, thorough-going old bulldog you are, my dear Jack!” he exclaimed affectionately. “You ask my consent, as if you did not know that you have it, and my best, my very heartiest wishes into the bargain. But, Jack, don’t you see why I am so pleased—why this makes me so happy? It is because now you will be compelled to do me the favor of taking a share of the poor squire’s money!”
Jack started as if he had been stung.
“You see, my dear fellow! you can’t marry on nothing—now, can you? Love must have a cottage, and—but I beg your pardon, my dear fellow! I am, perhaps, going too far. Much to my grief and regret you have never confided in me as I should have wished, and perhaps—I hope that it may be so—you have some means——”
Jack paced up and down, the perspiration standing on his knitted brow.
In the ecstatic joy which had fallen upon him like a glamour during those few short hours with Una, he had absolutely forgotten that he was penniless, and in debt, and without a prospect in the wide world.
And now it all rushed back upon him; every softly-spoken word of Stephen’s fell upon him like a drop in an icy shower bath, and awoke him from his dream to the stern reality.
What was he to do? Great Heaven, was he actually driven to accept Stephen’s charity?
A shudder ran through him, a pang of worse than wounded pride.
Become a pensioner of Stephen Davenant’s! No, it was simply impossible. White and haggard with the struggle that was going on within him, he turned upon the smiling face.
“What you want—what you propose, is impossible,” hesaid, hoarsely. “I cannot and will not do it. I would rather beg my bread——”
Stephen smiled. It was a delicious moment for him, and he prolonged it.
“My dear Jack! what would Mr. Gideon Rolfe say if I gave his daughter to a beggar? I use your own words. It is ridiculous. But come, sit down. Grieved as I am at what I must call your mistaken obstinacy, I can’t help being touched by it. You always were willful, my dear Jack, always. Alas! it was that very willfulness that estranged you from my uncle——”
“No more of that,” said Jack, sternly.
Stephen made a gesture with his hand.
“And it would, if another man were in my place, rob you of your sweetheart; but it shall not. I am determined to prove to you, my dear Jack, that my desire to be a friend is sincere and true. Let me think. There may be some loophole in your pride which I can creep in at.”
Jack went back to his seat and lit another cigar, and Stephen appeared lost in thought, but in reality he watched through his fingers, and gloated over the despair and trouble depicted on Jack’s miserable countenance.
“Yes, I have it. Come, Jack, you won’t refuse assistance when it comes from the hand of her Majesty? You won’t object to a government appointment?”
“A government appointment?” said Jack, vaguely.
Stephen nodded.
“Yes,” he went on. “By a singular chance I have acquired some influence with the present government. One of these men has a seat in Wealdshire, which really hangs on the Hurst influence. The squire never interfered, but I could do so; and—you see, my dear Jack—a snug little sinecure, say of a thousand a year! It is not much, it is true; but Una has not been accustomed to wealth so long as to feel a thousand a year to be poverty.”
Jack rose and paced the room. Was he dreaming, or was this a different Stephen to the one he knew and disliked? He had heard of sudden wealth as suddenly transforming the nature of a man. Had Stephen’s nature undergone this marvelous change?
He doubted and mistrusted him, but here was the absoluteevidence. What could Stephen gain by this generosity? Nothing—absolutely nothing. It was strange, passing strange; but who was he that he should refuse to believe in the generosity and virtue of another man, especially when that generosity was exerted on his behalf?
Struggling against his suspicion and prejudice, Jack strode round the table and held out his hand.
“Stephen, I—I have wronged you. You must be a good fellow to behave in this way, and I—well, I have been a brute, and don’t deserve this on your part.”
Stephen winced under the hard grip of the warm, honest hand.
“Not a word more, my dear Jack; not a word more,” he exclaimed. “This—this is really very affecting. You move me very much.”
And he pressed his spotless handkerchief to his eyes.
Jack’s ardor cooled at once, and the old disgust and suspicion rose; but he choked them down again, and sat down.
“Not a word more,” said Stephen, with a gulp, as if he were swallowing a flood of tears. “I have long, long felt your coldness and distrust, my dear Jack, but I vowed to live it down, and prove to you that you have wronged me. Believe me that my good fortune—my unexpected fortune—was quite imbittered to me by the thought that you would misjudge me.”
Jack pulled at his cigar grimly. Stephen was on the wrong track, and he saw it, and hastened to change it.
“But now, my dear Jack, we shall understand each other. You will believe me that I have your welfare deeply at heart. Who else have I to think of—except my mother, my dear mother? And we may conclude that our little negotiation as suitor and guardian is ended. Eh, Jack? You shall have the appointment and Una—lucky fellow that you are—and I shall be rewarded by seeing you happy.”
Jack nodded. The mention of Una had filled him with gratitude. He could not forget that he owed her in two ways to Stephen.
“You are a good fellow, Stephen,” he said, “and you deserveyourluck. After all, you’ll make a better master of Hurst than I should. You’ll take care of it.”
Stephen sighed. He was going to gloat again.
“I don’t know. I wish to do my duty. It is an immense sum of money, Jack; immense.”
Jack nodded again.
“I’m glad of it,” he said, easily. “I don’t envy you. I did once, and not very long ago. But I rank Una above the Hurst even, and if I have her, you are welcome to the Hurst.”
Stephen winced, and looked at him from the corners of his eyes. Was there any significance in the speech? But Jack’s face was open and frank, as usual.
“That’s a bargain,” said Stephen, laughing.
Jack thought a moment.
“But what about Mr. Rolfe?” he said, dubiously.
“Leave him to me,” said Stephen, confidently. “I will manage him. And, by the way, I think for the present that we had better keep our little engagement quiet. You understand? He had better hear it from my lips, and—you quite see, Jack?”
Jack didn’t quite see. He would have preferred to go to Gideon Rolfe and have the matter out—fight it out if need be—but he was, so to speak, in Stephen’s hands.
“Very well,” he said.
“And now have another cigar, my dear Jack, you’ve eaten that one.”
But Jack was anxious to go. He wanted to be alone to think over this strange interview, and realize that Una was his.
“Well, if you will go,” said Stephen, reluctantly; “but mind, I shall expect you to make this your second home.”
Jack glanced round rather dubiously.
“And of course we shall see you at the Square?”
This invitation Jack accepted heartily, and once more he wrung Stephen’s hand.
“Good-night, good-night, my dear Jack,” said Stephen, and he took a candle from the table to light him down the stairs, and smiled till every tooth in his head showed like a grave-stone.
Then, as Jack’s heavy step faded away and was lost, Stephen went back into the room, closed the door, and sinkinginto a chair sat motionless, with folded arms and haggard face.
“Yes, yes,” he muttered, “I have played the best game—I have gulled him. Another man would have attempted to thwart him openly, and have raised a storm. My plan is the wiser. But to think that fate should have played me such a trick! and I thought she was safe and secure!” and he wiped the drops of cold sweat from his knitted brow. “Fool, fool that I was! Better to have left her there in the heart of the Forest! And yet—and yet—” he mused, “it is not so bad. The man might have been more powerful and cunning than the idiot whom I have in the hollow of my hand. Curse him! curse him! I never look on his face but I tremble. I hate him!” and he stretched out his closed hand as if with a curse.
As he did so it came into contact with Jack’s glass.
In a paroxysm of fury he caught up the glass and dashed it into the fire-place.
It relieved and brought him to his senses.
With a gesture of self-contempt he rose and rang the bell.
Slummers stole in with his noiseless step and stood beside the table with downcast eyes, which, nevertheless, had taken in the broken tumbler.
“I’ve broken a glass, Slummers,” said Stephen, with affected carelessness. “Never mind, leave it till the morning. Now, then, what have you learned?”
Slummers cleared his throat, and barely opening his thin lips, replied:
“A great deal, considering the time, sir. The young lady at Mrs. Davenant’s——”
“I know all about her,” said Stephen, breaking in impatiently. “What about Mr. Newcombe?”
Nowise embarrassed, Slummers wiped his dry lips with a handkerchief as spotless as his master’s.
“It is as you expected, sir. Mr. Newcombe is in difficulties.”
“Ah!” said Stephen, with evident satisfaction.
“He has been playing and giving paper. There are some old bills out, too. These are in the hands of Moss the money-lender.”
Stephen nodded and rubbed his hands.
“I know Moss—a hard man. Go on.”
“But they say,” continued Slummers, raising his eyes for a moment to his master’s face, “that Mr. Newcombe is going to set things right by marrying an heiress.”
Stephen smiled and leaned back in his chair.
“Oh, they do, do they; and who is this most fortunate young lady?”
“Lady Isabel Earlsley.”
Stephen started forward.
“What!”
“Lady Isabel Earlsley,” repeated Slummers, without the slightest change of voice or countenance.
“No—it’s a lie!” said Stephen, with a chuckle. “Where did you hear it?”
“At the club. It is the talk of town, sir. Mr. Newcombe has been in close attendance upon her ladyship for some time. They say that her ladyship’s brougham nearly ran over him, and that she took him home. It is true; her own coachman told me.”
Stephen leaned back and hid his face with his hand, his busy brain at work on this last turn of the wheel.
“Go on,” he said.
“That is all, sir.”
Stephen was silent for a minute or two, then he turned to the writing table and wrote for some minutes.
“Go to Moss to-morrow morning,” he said, “and tell him not to press Mr. Newcombe, and I don’t think he will require more than the hint—but you may say I will buy all Mr. Newcombe’s bills at a fair price. Mind! I want every I O U and bill that Mr. Newcombe gives. You understand?”
“I understand, Mr. Stephen,” said Slummers, and a faint, malicious smile stole over his face.
“And if Mr. Moss likes to oblige Mr. Newcombe with a little loan, I will take the bill. You understand?”
Slummers nodded.
“Here is the letter to Moss for his own satisfaction. He will not mention my name.”
Slummers took the note. Stephen passed his hand over his forehead, and turned his back to the light.
“Any—any other news, Slummers?”
Slummers smiled behind his hand.
“I have been to Cheltenham Terrace. We were rightly informed, sir. Old Mr. Treherne is dead, and Miss Treherne has disappeared.”
Stephen drew a breath of relief.
“Indeed,” he said. “Very good. Let me see, is there anything else?”
Slummers coughed.
“Nothing, sir, except to remind you that you have to speak at the charitable meeting tomorrow night.”
“Ah, yes, thank you, very good, Slummers. Be good enough to hand me the last charitable reports. Good-night.”
Happy! If ever two young people were happy, Una and Jack were. To Una the days passed like a happy dream time. Her sky was without a cloud; it almost seemed as if the world had been made for her, so entirely did everything lend itself to her enjoyment.
Every morning, soon after breakfast, Jack’s quick, buoyant step was heard ascending the stone steps of the house in Walmington Square, and he would come marching into the breakfast room with some palpable excuse about his just happening to pass, and Mrs. Davenant would smile her gentle welcome, and Una—well, Una’s eyes were eloquent, if her tongue was mute, and would speak volumes.
And Jack would lounge about for an hour, telling them all the news, and perhaps smoking a cigarette, just inside the conservatory; and Una was sure to find an excuse for being near him.
Indeed, if that young lady could be within touching distance of her god and hero, she seemed passing content. He was the very light of her life, soul of her soul; every day seemed to increase the passionate devotion of her first, her maiden love, for the wild, young ne’er-do-well.
And she was repaid. Jack thought that there never had been, since Eve began the sex, such a marvel of beauty andgrace and virtue as Una. He would sit for half-an-hour smoking and watching her in silence.
“Didn’t one of those clever fellows say of a certain woman that to know her was a liberal education?” he said to Mrs. Davenant. “Well, I say, that to be in Una’s presence, to watch her moving about in that quiet, graceful way of hers, and then to catch a smile now and again, is like reading a first-class poem; better, indeed, for me, because I don’t go in for poetry.”
Not that these young lovers spent all their time in silently watching each other. Every day Jack arrived with some plan for their amusement and enjoyment. Sometimes it would be:
“Well, what are you going to do today? What do you say to taking the coach to Guildford, getting a snack there, and back in the evening?”
Una’s face would light up, and Mrs. Davenant would smile agreeably, and in half-an-hour they would be ready, and Jack, as proud of Una’s beauty as if it were unique, would escort them to the “White Horse” in Piccadilly, and away they would spin through the lovely Surrey valleys to that quaintest of old towns in the hills. Sometimes Jack himself would take the ribbons, and, with Una by his side, “tool the truck,” as he called the handsome coach, back to town.
Then, again, he never came without a box for one of the theaters or a stall for a concert; and though not over fond of classical music himself, was quite content to sit and watch the look of rapt delight in Una’s face as she listened absorbed in Joachim’s wonderful violin.
But most of all, I think, they enjoyed their days on the river, when Jack, attired in his white flannels, would pull the two ladies up to Walton or Chertsey, and give them tea in one of the quiet, river-side inns.
Ah! those evenings, those moonlight nights, when the boat drifted down stream, and the two young people sat, hand in hand, whispering those endless exchanges of confidence which go to make up lovers’ conversations.
It was wonderful that Mrs. Davenant did not catch cold, but Jack took great care of her, and wrapped her up inhis thick ulster; and she never seemed to grow tired of witnessing their happiness.
Sometimes Jack would ask Stephen to join them, but Stephen would always find an excuse. Now it was because he had an engagement with the lawyers; at another time he had promised to speak at some philanthropic meeting, or had promised to dine at the club. He would, however, occasionally dine at the Square, or drop in and take a cup of tea; and wore always the same friendly smile and genial manner.
Jack had become quite convinced that he had done Stephen a great deal of injustice, and now thought that Stephen was everything that was kind and thoughtful.
It was only at chance times, when Jack happened to catch the pale face off its guard, that the old doubts rose to perplex and trouble him; but then he always set them to rest by asking himself what Stephen could possibly have to gain by acting as he did.
Of course, all these outings by land and water cost a great deal of money, but Jack had found Moss, the money-lender, most suddenly and strangely complaisant.
Instead of dunning him for what was owing, Moss actually pressed him to borrow more, and Jack, always too careless in money matters, was quite ready to oblige him.
“I can pay him out of my salary, when I get the appointment,” he said to Leonard, in response to the latter’s remonstrances and warnings.
“Yes, when you get it,” said Leonard.
“What do you mean?” said Jack. “Do you mean to hint that Stephen isn’t to be relied upon?”
“I haven’t the honor of knowing much of Mr. Davenant,” said Leonard, “and so can’t say whether he is more reliable than most public men who promise places and appointments; but I do know that men have grown gray-headed while waiting for one of those said places.”
“You don’t know Stephen,” said Jack, confidently. “He can manage anything he likes to set his mind on. He is not one of my sort. He can’t let the grass grow under his feet. There, stop croaking, and come and dine at the Square.”
And Leonard would go, for he and Una had, as Jack said, “cottoned to one another.”
Una felt all sorts of likings and gratitude for the man who had always been Jack’s friend, and none of the jealousy which some girls feel for their lover’s bachelor acquaintances.
“I am sure he is good and true, Jack,” she said.
“Good! There isn’t a better man in England,” Jack affirmed. “And he’s as true as steel. Poor old Len!”
“Why do you pity him?” said Una, who had not altogether lost her way of asking direct questions.
“Well, you see, there’s a lot of romance about Len,” said Jack; and he told her about Leonard’s meeting with Laura Treherne.
“And he has never found her?” said Una.
“Not from that day to this,” answered Jack.
“And yet he still remembers and loves her,” murmured Una. “Yes, I like your friend, Jack, and I do hope he will meet with this young lady and be happy. I should like all the world to be as happy as I am!”
“Ah, but don’t you see all the world aren’t angels like you, you know,” retorted Master Jack, kissing her.
Though, in accordance with Stephen’s advice, the engagement had not been made public, the outside world was beginning to get an inkling of what was going on in Walmington Square.
Jack’s friends at the club chaffed him on the unfrequency of his visits.
“There’s some mischief the Savage is planning,” said Dalrymple. “You scarcely ever see him here now; he doesn’t play, and shuns the bottle as if it were poison, and he’s altogether changed. I shouldn’t be surprised if he were to take to public meetings like that distant cousin of his, Stephen Davenant.”
“It is my opinion,” said Sir Arkroyd Hetley, “that he spends all his time at Walmington Square, for my man sees him going and coming at all hours. The Savage is in love.”
And gradually those rumors spreading, like the ripple of a stone in a pool, reached Park Lane, and got to Lady Bell’s ears.
She had gone out of town for a week or two, and had, of course, seen nothing of Jack or Una, but on her return she drove to the Square.
Una and Mrs. Davenant were sitting by the tea table, and wondering whether Jack would come in.
Lady Bell’s entrance made quite a little flutter.
“How do you do, Mrs. Davenant, and how do you do, Wild Bird?” and she kissed Una, and holding her at arm’s length, scanned her smilingly. “What have you been doing to look so fresh and happy?” Here Una’s face over-spread with blushes. “What a child it is! But see, here I am just from the seaside, and as pale, or rather as yellow as a guinea, while you are like a dairy-maid. My dear girl, you positively beam with happiness.”
Mrs. Davenant and Una exchanged glances—glances that were not lost upon Lady Bell’s acuteness.
“Is there a secret?” she said, quickly. “Have you come into a fortune? But, no, that can’t be it, for I know that I’ve never been thoroughly happy since I came into mine.”
“You always look happy, Lady Bell,” said Mrs. Davenant.
“My dear, don’t judge by appearances,” said Lady Bell, in her quick way. “I am not always happy; most of my time I am bored to death; I am always worried and hurried. Oh, by-the-way, speaking of worries, can you recommend me a maid? My own, a girl who came from the colonies with me, and swore, after a fashion, never to leave me, has gone and got married. I should be angry if I didn’t pity her.”
“Don’t you believe in the happiness of the married state, then?” asked Mrs. Davenant, while Una looked on smilingly.
“No,” said Lady Bell, shortly. “Men are tyrants and deceivers; there is no believing a word they say. A woman who marries is a slave, and——”
She broke off sharply, for the door opened and Jack entered. A warm flush rose to Lady Bell’s face, and she was too much occupied in concealing it to observe the similar flush which flooded Una’s cheeks.
Jack was striding in with Una’s name on his lips, buthe stopped short at sight of Lady Bell, and the flush seemed an epidemic, for it glowed under his tan.
“I thought you were at Brighton, Lady Bell,” he said, as he shook hands.
“So I was—three hours ago. I came away suddenly; got tired and bored of it before I had been there three days. If there is one place more unendurable than another it is the fashionable watering-place. I bore it until this morning, and then poor Mrs. Fellowes and I made a bolt of it, or rather I bolted and dragged her with me. I left Lord Dalrymple and Sir Arkroyd in happy unconsciousness of our desertion.”
“Then, at this moment, they are wandering about the Parade in despair,” said Jack, laughing. And, as he laughed, he looked from one girl to the other, making a mental comparison. Yes, Lady Bell was beautiful, with a beauty undeniable and palpable, but how it paled and grew commonplace beside Una’s fresh, spiritual loveliness.
He had held her hand for a moment when he entered, and now, as he carried the tea cup, he got an opportunity of touching her arm, lovingly, caressingly.
He longed to take her by the hand and say to Lady Bell:
“This is my future wife, Lady Bell,” but he remembered Stephen’s advice, and was on his guard, so much so that though she watched them closely, Lady Bell saw no sign of the existing state of things.
It was singular, but since Jack’s arrival she did not seem at all bored or worried, but rattled on in her gayest mood.
“And what have you been doing since I left town?” she asked Una. “I hope Mr. Newcombe has made himself useful and attentive;” and she looked at Jack, who nodded coolly enough, though Una’s face crimsoned.
“Yes, I’ve been doing the knight errant, Lady Bell. Mrs. Davenant and I are old friends—relations, indeed.”
“Ah, yes,” said Lady Bell. “I hear your son, Mr. Stephen, is in London.”
In a moment Mrs. Davenant’s face lost its brightness.
“Yes, yes,” she said, nervously; “yes, he is in London.”
“Where is he?” said Lady Bell, looking round as if sheexpected to see him concealed behind one of the chairs. “He’s always addressing public meetings, isn’t he?”
“Not always, Lady Earlsley,” said Stephen, from the open doorway.
“Good heavens! Speak of the—angels, and you hear the rustle of their wings!” exclaimed Lady Bell, not at all embarrassed. “How did you come in, Mr. Davenant?”
“By the door, Lady Earlsley, which was open. Mother, you will lose all your plate some day.”
“And what public meeting have you come from now?” asked Lady Bell, with a smile.
“I have been walking in the park,” said Stephen, “and am at your ladyship’s service.”
“I am glad of it,” said Lady Bell, quickly, “for I want you—all of you to come and dine with me tonight.”
“Tonight!” echoed Jack.
“Tonight! Why not? You have plenty of time to dress. Come, it will be charity—there’s an argument for you, Mr. Davenant—for Mrs. Fellowes and I are all alone; papa has gone to some learned society meeting. Come, I’ll go home at once and tell them to get your favorite wines ready. Whatisyour favorite, Mr. Newcombe?”
Jack laughed.
“I’d come and dine withyou, Lady Bell, if you gave us ginger beer,” he said.
Lady Bell laughed, but she looked pleased.
“Now, that is what I call a really good compliment—for a Savage,” and she glanced at Jack archly. “We’ll say half-past eight tonight to give you time to finish your chat.Au revoir,” and waving her daintily-gloved hand, she flitted from the room.
“Would he dine with me if I had only ginger beer to offer him?” she asked herself, as she went back in the brougham. “Would he? He looks so honest and so true!—so incapable of a mean, unworthy action! I wish I were as poor—as poor as Una. How quietly she sits. She has just the air of one of the great ones of the earth—the air which I, with all my title and wealth, shall never have. I wonder who she is, and whether Mr. Stephen thinks her as beautiful as I do! He looked at her as he went in—well, just as I would thatsome one elsewould look at me. Howhandsome he is, so different to Stephen Davenant. Ah, me! I know now why Brighton was so hateful; if Jack Newcombe had been there I should not have hungered and pined for London! What a miserable, infatuated being I am. I am as bad as that foolish maid of mine. Yes, just as bad, for if Jack Newcombe came and asked me, I should run away with him as she did with her young man!”
Still thinking of him, she reached home and went up to her own room, where Mrs. Fellowes, the long-suffering, hastened to meet her.
“My dear, I’m so glad you’ve come. How long you have been.”
“My dear, you say that every time I come in. What is the matter—another maid run away?”
“No, but a maid has come, at least a young person—I was going to say lady—who wants the situation.”
“Well, a lady’s maid ought to be a lady,” said Lady Bell, languidly. “Where is she?”
“In my room,” said Mrs. Fellowes. “She came with a note from Lady Challoner. It seems the poor girl has been in trouble—she has lost her father—and not caring to go for a governess——”
“For which I don’t blame her,” said Lady Bell.
“She is desirous of getting an engagement as a companion or lady’s maid.”
“A companion’s worse off than a governess, isn’t she?” said Lady Bell, naively.
Mrs. Fellowes smiled.
“Yes. What is her name?” asked Lady Bell.
“Well, there’s the point,” said Mrs. Fellowes. “Her name is Laura Treherne, but as some of her friends—she hasn’t many, she says—might think that she had done wrong in taking a menial situation she wishes to be known by some other name.”
“I hate mysteries and aliases,” said Lady Bell. “I don’t think I shall engage her. She’ll be too proud to do my hair and copy all my dresses in common material. Well, I’ll see her.”
“I’ll send her away if you like,” said Mrs. Fellowes; “but I think you’ll like her.”
“Do you? Then I know exactly what she’s like before Isee her if she has taken your fancy. Some prim old maid in black cotton and thick shoes.”
Mrs. Fellowes smiled and rang the bell, and bade a servant to ask the young person who was waiting to step that way.
Lady Bell began taking off her gloves yawningly, but stopped suddenly, and looked up with an air of surprise as the door opened and a tall girl, with dark hair and eyes, entered.
Lady Bell overmastered her surprise, and asking the young girl to sit down, looked at her critically as she did so.
Yes, the girl was a lady, there could be no doubt of that. But it was not only the evidence of refinement in the face and the manner of the girl that struck Lady Bell; there was an expression in the dark eyes and clear-cut lips, slightly compressed, which roused her interest and curiosity.
It was a face with a history.
For the first time she looked at Lady Challoner’s note.
“I see,” she said, “that Lady Challoner knows you, Miss Treherne.”
“She knew my grandfather,” was the quiet answer. “He is dead.”
“Lately?” said Lady Bell, glancing at the note.
Laura Treherne bent her head.
“Two months ago,” she said, sadly.
“And have you no friends with whom you could go and live?”
“None who would care to have me, or to whom I should wish to go.”
Lady Bell was silent for a moment—the girl interested her more each minute.
“Are you taking a wise step in seeking for a situation which is considered menial?” she asked.
Laura Treherne paused for a moment.
“I do not think it degradation to serve Lady Earlsley,” she said.
Lady Bell smiled, not ill pleased.
“You mean to say that you would not accept any situation?”
Laura Treherne inclined her head.
“How did you know that I wanted a maid?”
“I heard it in the house where I am lodging,” she replied.
“And you knew me?”
“Yes; I had heard of you, my lady.”
“Have you any other testimonials besides this note of Lady Challoner’s?”
“None, my lady.”
Lady Bell hesitated.
“It is quite sufficient,” she said; “but I am afraid you do not understand the duties of a lady’s maid.”
“I think so, my lady. What I do not know now, I can soon learn.”
“That’s true. And I see you do not wish your real name to transpire?”
“I would rather that it did not. I would rather be known by some other name,” answered Laura Treherne.
“Why?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, and the dark face paled slightly.
“I thought Lady Challoner had explained. My friends——”
“You do not care for your friends to know that you are in a situation? You think their pride would be greater than your own?”
“Exactly, my lady.”
“Well, I’ll engage you,” she said. “When can you come? I have no maid at present.”
“Now, at once, if your ladyship wishes. I will stay now, and send for my luggage, if you please.”
“Very well,” said Lady Bell. “Come to my room in half an hour, and we will arrange matters. You have said nothing about salary.”
“That I leave in your ladyship’s hands.”
“Like the cabmen,” said Lady Bell, laughing. “Well, come to my room in half an hour.”
Laura Treherne bowed and left the room, and Mrs. Fellowes lifted up her voice in remonstrance.
“My dear Bell, that letter may be a forgery.”
“It might be, but it isn’t. I can read faces, and I like that young lady’s. Yes, she’s a lady, poor girl. Well, she might have hit upon a worse mistress; I shan’t bang her about the head with a hair brush when I’m in a temper, as Lady Courtney does her maid. There, spare your remonstrances, my dear. The girl’s engaged, and I mean to keep her. And now there are three or four people coming to dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Davenant, Jack—I mean Mr. Newcombe—and that strange girl, Una. What a lovely creature she is! Do you know I rather think she will become Mrs. Stephen Davenant.”
“She is a very nice girl,” said Mrs. Fellowes. “She ought to make a good match.”
“Ay de me,” said Lady Bell, with a sigh. “I’m sick of that word. Men and women don’t ‘marry’ now, they make ‘good matches.’ My dear, I hate your worldly way of looking at matrimony. If I were a poor girl, I’d marry the man of my heart, if he hadn’t a penny. Ah, and if he were the baddest of bad lots.”
“Like Jack Newcombe, for instance,” said Mrs. Fellowes, archly.
“Yes,” said Lady Bell, turning with the door in her hand; “like Jack Newcombe,” and she ran up to her room.
Punctual to the minute, Laura Treherne knocked at the door of the dressing-room. Lady Bell was seated before the glass, surrounded by her walking clothes, which, as was her custom, she had slipped out of or flung carelessly aside.
Without a word Laura picked them up and put them in the wardrobe, and without a word took up the hair brushes. Lady Bell watched her in the glass, and gave her a hint now and then, and when her hair was dressed glanced round approvingly.
“Yes,” she said, “that is very nice; and you have not hurt me once. The last maid used to pull me terribly. I suppose she was thinking of her young man. By the way, are you engaged?”
The dark face flushed for a moment, then grew pale.
“No, my lady.”
“I’m glad of it. Take my advice and don’t be. That sounds selfish, doesn’t it. Now you want to know what I am going to wear. I don’t know myself. What would you choose? Go to the wardrobe.”
Laura went to the wardrobe, and came back after a minute or two with a dress of black satin and lace looped up with rosebuds of the darkest red. It was one newly arrived from Worth.
Lady Bell nodded.
“Yes, that just suits me. Give me a lady for good taste! And now choose the ornaments. There is the jewel-box.”
Laura chose the set of rubies and diamonds, and Lady Bell smiled again.
“I shall look rather Spanish. Never mind. Let us try them.”
With deft and gentle hands Laura helped her to dress, and Lady Bell nodded approval.
“Am I ready?”
Laura hesitated a moment.
“Will your ladyship wear the pendant?”
Lady Bell glanced in the glass.
“Ah, I see, you think that is rather too much against the rosebuds. You are right. Take it off, please. Thanks. Put the key of the jewel-box in your pocket. Stay! there is a chain for you to wear it on;” and she took out a small gold chain. “You can keep that as your own.”
Laura Treherne flushed, and she inclined her head gratefully.
Lady Bell was relieved; her last maid used to overwhelm her with thanks.
“And now I will go down. By the way, will you please tell Simcox—that’s the butler—that the gentlemen will want Lafitte, at least, Mr. Newcombe will. I don’t know what Mr. Stephen Davenant drinks. What’s the matter?” she broke off to inquire, for she heard Laura stumble and fall against the wardrobe.
There was a moment’s pause; then, calmly enough, Laura said:
“My foot caught in your ladyship’s dress, I think.”
“Have you hurt yourself?” asked Lady Bell, kindly.“You have gone quite pale! Here, take some of this sal-volatile.”
But Laura declined, respectfully. It was a mere nothing, and she would be more careful of alarming her ladyship for the future.
Lady Bell looked at her curiously. The quiet, self-contained manner, so free from nervousness or embarrassment, interested her.
She stopped her as Laura was leaving the room.
“We haven’t fixed upon a name for you yet,” she said.
“No, my lady; any name will do.”
“It is a pity to change yours—it is a pretty one.”
“Will Mary Burns do, my lady? It was my mother’s name.”
“Very well,” said Lady Bell; “I will tell Mrs. Fellowes that you will be known by that.”
“That girl has a history, I know,” she thought, as she went downstairs.
Punctual almost to the minute, Mrs. Davenant’s brougham arrived.
The evenings had drawn in, and a lamp was burning in the hall; and a small fire made the dining-room comfortable.
Lady Bell welcomed Una most affectionately.
“Now we will have a really enjoyable evening,” she said. “I hate dinner parties, and if I had my way, would never give nor go to another one. If it were only a little colder, we’d sit round the fire and bake chestnuts. Have you ever done that, Wild Bird?”
“Often,” said Una, with a quiet smile, and something like a sigh, as she thought of the long winter evenings in the cot. How long ago they seemed, almost unreal, as if they had never happened.
“Oh, Una is very accomplished,” said Jack; “I believe she could make coffee if she tried.”
Very snug and comfortable the dining-room looked. Lady Bell had dispensed with one of the footmen, and had evidently determined to make the meal as homely and unceremonious as possible.
Never, perhaps, had the butler seen a merrier party. Even Stephen was genial and humorous; indeed he seemedto exert himself in an extraordinary fashion. Lady Bell had given him Una to take in, and he was most attentive and entertaining—so much that Jack, who was sitting opposite, and next to Lady Bell, felt amused and interested at the change which seemed to have come over him.
Could he have seen the workings of the subtle mind concealed behind the smiling exterior, he would have felt very much less at his ease; for even now Stephen was plotting how best he could mold the material round him to serve his purpose, and while the laugh was lingering on his smooth lips, his heart was burning with hate and jealousy of the rival who sat opposite.
For it had come to this, that he desired Una, and not only for the wealth of which he had robbed her, but for herself. As deeply as it was possible for one of his nature he loved the innocent, unsuspecting girl who sat beside him.
Tonight, as he looked at the beautiful face and marked each fleeting expression that flitted like sunshine over it: as he listened to the musical voice, and felt the touch of her dress as it brushed his arm, a passionate longing seized and mastered him, and he felt that he would risk all of which he was wrongfully possessed to win her—ah, and if she were, indeed, only the daughter of a common woodman.
“Curse him!” he murmured over his wine glass, as his eyes rested on Jack’s handsome face. “If he had not crossed my path, she would have been mine ere now; no matter, I will strike him out of it, as if he were a viper in my road.”
Meanwhile, quite unconscious of Stephen’s generous sentiments, Jack went on with his dinner, enjoying it thoroughly, and as happy as it is given to a mortal to be.
Presently the conversation turned upon their plans for the autumn.
“What are we all going to do?” said Lady Bell. “You, I suppose, Mr. Davenant, will go down to your place in Wealdshire—what is it called?”
“Hurst Leigh,” said Stephen, quietly. “Yes, I must go down there, I ought to have been there before now, but I find so many attractions in town,” and he smiled at Una.
“And you, my dear?” said Lady Bell to Mrs. Davenant.
“My mother will go down with me,” said Stephen.
Mrs. Davenant glanced at him nervously.
“And that means Miss Wild Bird, too, I suppose?” remarked Lady Bell.
“If Miss Una will honor us,” said Stephen, with an inclination of the head to Una. “Yes, we shall make quite a family party. You will join us, of course, Jack?”
Jack, who had looked up rather grim at the foregoing, bit his lip.
“I don’t quite know,” he said, gravely.
“Surely you will not let the poachers have all the birds this year, Jack!” said Stephen, brightly. “Besides my mother will be quite lost without you.”
“Do come, Jack,” whispered Mrs. Davenant.
“I’ll see,” said Jack, grimly, and Una looked down uneasily; she understood his reluctance to go to the old place.
“Oh, we will take no refusal,” said Stephen, buoyantly. “And what are your plans, Lady Bell?”
Lady Bell looked up with rather a start and a flush.
“I—I—don’t quite know,” she said. “I had been thinking of going to a small place we have at Earl’s Court.”
“Earl’s Court!” exclaimed Jack. “Why, that is only thirteen miles or so from the Hurst.”
“Is it?” said Lady Bell. “I didn’t know. I haven’t seen it. I’m ashamed to say that I haven’t made a round of inspection of the property yet. My stewards are always bothering me to do so, but I don’t seem to have time.”
“A sovereign cannot be expected to visit the whole of her kingdom,” said Stephen, with a smile.
Lady Bell sighed.
“I often wish the old earl had left me five hundred a year and a cottage somewhere,” she said, quietly. “I should have been a happier woman. Oh, here is the claret. Give Mr. Newcombe the Lafitte, Simcox. Mr. Davenant——”
“I always follow Jack’s suit,” said Stephen, rising to open the door for the ladies. “He is an infallible guide in such matters.”
“Fancy a woman lamenting the extent of her wealth,”he said, with something like a sneer, as he went back to the table. “If any girl ought to be happy that girl ought to be. What a chance for some young fellow! My dear Jack, if I had been in your place——”
Jack looked up with a tinge of red in his face.
“What nonsense. Lady Bell knows better than to be caught by such chaff as I am. Besides, I am more than content. I wouldn’t exchange Una for a Duchess, with the riches of Peru in her pockets. What about the commissionership, or whatever it is, Stephen?”
“All in good time, my dear Jack. Those sort of things aren’t done in a moment; the matter is in hand, and we shall get it, be sure. Meanwhile, if you want any money——”
“Thanks, no,” said Jack, easily.
He had only that morning negotiated a bill with Mr. Moss for another hundred pounds.
Stephen smiled evilly behind his pocket handkerchief. He held that bill in his pocketbook at that moment, in company with all Jack’s previous ones.