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 and grace 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 in his 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, but he 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 she expected 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. What _is_ your favorite, Mr. Newcombe?"
Jack laughed.
"I'd come and dine with _you_, 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 that _some one else_ would look at me. How
handsome 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 I see 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.