Jack walked leisurely enough through the fernery looking this way and that in search of the phantom girl; but once clear of the ball-room, he hurried through the ante-rooms and down the staircase—utterly ignoring the adieus which were sent after him by the crowd on the stairs—and reached the hall.

The carriages were already taking up, and without ceremony he pushed through the footmen into the open air.

“Has a carriage left just now—five minutes ago?” he asked.

“Two or three, sir,” said the footmen, and, too busy to answer any further questions, he dashed off.

Jack waited just outside the stream of light for nearly an hour, his coat collar turned up, his hands thrust in his pockets. But though many a beautiful face passed him and was driven away, Una’s lovely face was not amongst them.

“I must have fallen asleep and been dreaming,” he muttered. “How could she possibly have been there?”

Then he called a hansom, and was driven to the club.

His blood was on fire, his brain was in a whirl; two faces—Una’s and Lady Bell’s—seemed to dance before his eyes. Do something he must to get rid of them, or they would drive him mad.

There was only one thing to do—play. Before the morning he had lost every penny of his twenty-one pounds six and fourpence, and a couple of hundred besides.

Chance had favored Una in her escape; no sooner had she reached the staircase than she heard Mrs. Davenant’s carriage announced. To get her shawl and make her way down the staircase was the work of a few moments, and the brougham was rolling away toward Walmington Square before Jack had got down to the hall.

“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Davenant, “have you enjoyed yourself? You look pale and tired.”

Una shrunk into her corner.

“I am rather tired,” she said, in a low voice, “it was all so new and strange.”

“And was Lady Bell kind?”

“Very kind,” answered Una, with a sigh. “How beautiful she is!”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Davenant, “she is a very fortunate girl. Youth and beauty and wealth, she has much to make her happy. Tell me whom you saw, my dear.”

Una flushed and trembled. She went over the names of some of the great people, but she said nothing of Jack. She could not bring her trembling lips to frame his name.

“All the best people in town,” said Mrs. Davenant, with a smile. “You will be a fashionable young lady before long, Una.”

“Oh, no, no!” breathed Una, with a sudden pallor. “Perhaps I shall never go again.”

Mrs. Davenant looked at her curiously, and relapsed into silence until they reached home.

Then, as they entered the drawing-room, she said, with a little nervous smile:

“I have heard from my son Stephen, Una.”

“From your son?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Davenant. “It is good news. He has become very rich. His uncle, Squire Davenant, has left him everything he possessed.”

Una started and turned pale. Then Jack had been left nothing! That was why he had looked so grave and troubled.

“Everything?” she asked.

“Everything,” said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh: “the Hurst and the estate, and all the money, and he is very rich—very rich indeed.”

Una looked before her dreamily. She could not say, “I am very glad.” Mrs. Davenant waited a moment.

“There is a message for you, my dear,” she said timidly, fingering the letter.

“For me!” said Una, looking up with a start.

“Yes; Stephen is so thoughtful! He never forgets others even in the midst of his great prosperity. He sends his kind regards, and trusts that you do not miss Warden, and that you will not find our quiet life too dull. He little thinks how we have plunged into gayety already. He would be surprised if he knew it.”

Indeed Stephen would, with a vengeance!

“It is very kind of him,” said Una, in a low voice.

Mrs. Davenant sighed.

“He is always kind and thoughtful. He tells me that he will not be able to come home just yet awhile. It seems that there is a great deal to see to. The estate was greatly neglected, and there’s some business to be done with the lawyers; that keeps him there. But he says he will come as soon as he can, and, meanwhile, I am to make you as happy as I can. I hope I have done that already, dear,” she added, with simple affection.

Una rose and kissed her.

“Indeed, yes; I am very happy.”

Then she turned her face away to hide her tears.

“Come, you must go to bed,” said Mrs. Davenant, “or you will lose all your fresh roses.”

And she put her candle in her hand, and kissed her tenderly.

It was some time before Una fell asleep. The events of the night flitted like phantom visions across her eyes, and Jack’s face rose to haunt her, with its tender, troubled look in the dark eyes.

The squire had willed all to Stephen then, and Jack was poor and forgotten.

The sun was high in the heavens when she awoke, and breakfast was on the table by the time she had got down.

Mrs. Davenant looked up with a smile.

“I am so glad to have you safe, dear,” she said. “Come, you have got all your roses back again; and, see here, you cannot guess whom this is from;” and she held up a note. “It is from Lady Bell. It is an awful scolding for your running away last night. She says that you flew away like a bird, and that she had no sooner missed you than she heard that you had gone.”

Una colored.

“Was it rude of me?” she said. “I am sorry.”

“Never mind, my dear; she has evidently forgiven you, or she says she will, if you will go with her for a water picnic to-day.”

Una turned pale again.

“I!” she said, below her breath.

Mrs. Davenant opened the note.

“Yes; she says she will take no denial. They are going to drive down to Richmond, and she will call for you on the way. Would you like to go, my dear?”

Una thought a moment. She longed for, yet dreaded, the meeting which she knew must take place between Jack and her if she went.

Mrs. Davenant took her silence for consent.

“There is no need of an answer, my dear,” she said, with a little laugh; “Lady Bell will take no heed of a refusal. There’s the note.”

And she threw it across the table.

Una read the kindly-imperative little letter, and sighed as she examined the brilliant crest stamped at the head of the paper.

“It is very kind,” she said. “Yes, I will go, if you are sure you do not mind my leaving you.”

After breakfast, Mrs. Davenant and Jane entered into a consultation as to what Una should wear, Una standing by with a quiet smile.

At last they decided that a dainty-figured satin should be honored; and both of them, notwithstanding Una’s protests, insisted upon assisting at her toilet.

They could not have chosen anything more suited to her fresh, virginal beauty than the simple, delicate dress; and when Jane had brushed the soft, silken hair until it shone and flashed like strands of golden haze, and coiled it into a knot, Mrs. Davenant could not suppress an exclamation of satisfaction and admiration.

As for Una, she had not yet learned to view her changed self without surprise, and stared at the tall, beautiful woman which the glass reflected as though she could not believe that it was herself.

They were still looking at her, and Jane’s restless fingers were touching a bow here and a fold there, when they heard the rattle of heavy wheels outside, and Mrs. Davenant hurried her downstairs.

Lady Bell was already in the drawing-room, and took Una in her arms as if she were a school-girl, instead of a woman taller than herself.

“My child, I came to scold you—I meant to have a fearful scene; but you have taken it all out of me!” And she held Una by her elbows, and looked at her admiringly. “Child, you are a picture! I’ve half a mind to drive off without you. What will become of me? Mrs. Davenant, don’t you think I am very stupid to commit suicide in this way?”

Mrs. Davenant smiled, and looked at Lady Bell’s beautiful face, all bright as if with sunlight, and shook her head gently.

“Bah!” said Lady Bell, pouting. “I am nothing but a foil to her; but I shall be useful, at least. Come, we must be off. What is that—milk?”

“Yes,” said Una, offering her a glass, with a smile.

“She drinks nothing else,” said Mrs. Davenant.

“That accounts for her complexion,” said Lady Bell. “No, it doesn’t! If I drank all the dairies in London dry, I shouldn’t get such milk and roses on my cheeks.”

“Don’t turn her head,” murmured Mrs. Davenant, under her breath.

Lady Bell laughed.

“My dear Mrs. Davenant, it is just what she wants! There isn’t a spark of vanity in her composition; she isn’t quite a woman, for no woman is without vanity. Look at her, as grave and stern as a judge!” and she touched Una’s arm with her sunshade.

Una started—she had been wondering whether Jack would be there outside, on the drag, and was listening for his voice amongst those which came floating through the open window.

Trembling inwardly she followed Lady Bell out.

The four horses were champing and pawing impatiently.

The drag was nearly full, and, for a moment, Una saw only a confused group of women in dainty morning dresses, and of men in white flannel and cheviot. A second glance convinced her that Jack was not there.

As they appeared on the steps the laughter and voices ceased, and a well-bred glance of curiosity was turned upon her.

Lady Bell was, however, equal to the occasion.

“Come along, Una,” she said, gayly. “Fanny, will you make room beside you for Miss Rolfe?”

The Countess of Pierrepoint smiled.

“How do you do, Miss Rolfe!” she said graciously. “I hear you were at Lady Bell’s dance last night; why did you let her hide you so completely?”

Una was silent.

Fortunately Dalrymple made so much bustle and fuss in starting, that conversation for a minute or two was impossible; and before that minute or two had passed, Una had gained her self-possession.

Seated about, she recognized several of the people Lady Bell had pointed out on the preceding evening: Lady Clarence, Mrs. Cantrip, the Marchioness of Fairfield. Beside Dalrymple, who had all his work cut out in keeping the four spirited nags in good conduct in the crowded London streets, sat, as a matter of course, Sir Arkroyd Hetley, while one or two other men—one of whom she heard addressed as the viscount—was with the ladies.

Had Una been naturally nervous, her timidity could not long have existed in such an atmosphere.

Her companions were among the highest in the land; but there was less reserve and ceremony than would have been found in a similar gathering of middle-class people. The men were laughing and chatting, ever and again turning round to make some light-hearted remark, or pass some joke round. They were all, it was evident, bent on enjoying themselves.

Very soon Una found herself brought into the conversation, Lady Bell talking to her continually, and pointing out the lions of the road.

The roses came back into Una’s face in full bloom, her heart beat more lightly, and her spirits rose as the four impatient horses dashed along the roads which now ran through the beautiful vicinity of Richmond.

She had almost—almost—forgotten that Jack was not there, when happening to glance round suddenly at Lady Bell, she saw her looking dreamily before her, evidently lost in thought, with a wistful drooping of the bright red lips and a disappointed shadow in the dark eyes.

Then Una knew that it was not only she herself who felt the absence of the missing one.

However, Lady Bell soon rallied, and when they drove up to the hotel she was as bright as ever.

The luncheon had been sent up to Thames Dutton, one of the prettiest parts of the Thames, and it had been arranged that the gentlemen should row up to the island, hence the white flannel and cheviot costumes. They found boats awaiting them at the river side, and, with much laughing and gayety, started.

It was a beautiful scene, the river gleaming like a flood of silver between its banks of green meadows and stately trees, the three boats with their bright colored occupants. Una, who was of nature’s own kin, was filled with delight; it was better than being at Warden. She leaned back in her comfortable seat in the stern of the foremost boat, rapt in silent enjoyment.

Lady Bell looked at her rather wistfully.

“How happy you look, child,” she said, in a lower voice than usual.

“I am quite happy,” said Una, simply.

“You are just the person for a picnic,” said Lady Clarence. “I feel sure that you would look just as contented and serene if it rained in torrents, while the rest of us would be running about bemoaning our spoiled clothes.”

Una laughed.

“I am not afraid of rain,” she said.

“That’s fortunate, Miss Rolfe,” said Dalrymple, who was pulling stroke, and exerting himself nobly, while Hetley, pulling behind him, allowed him to do all the work. “That’s fortunate, as we shall be sure to have a shower or two—always do at a water picnic.”

“No prophesying, marquis!” cried Lady Bell. “There isn’t a cloud in the sky; there isn’t a sign of wet.”

“I’m sorry for that,” he said, with mock gravity, “for I’m fearfully thirsty.”

They paid no attention to this broad hint, however, until they were going through Teddington Lock, when Lady Bell produced some champagne and soda water, and Hetley made a cooling cup.

When it came to Una’s turn—they all drank out of the same cup, a splendid silver tankard, chased with the Earlsley arms—she glanced at it askance and shook her head.

“But you must, my dear Una,” said Lady Bell. “You will be parched.”

“Let me have some water,” said Una, and making a cup of her hand—a trick she had learned at a very early age—she bent over the boat and as quietly and naturally drank a draught.

The countess looked at her earnestly, and Sir Arkroyd muttered to Dalrymple:

“Where did she come from?”

“I don’t know,” said Dalrymple, in the same tone. “I’d stick to water all the day if she’d let me drink it out of the same cup. Isn’t she beautiful—perfectly lovely!”

“Hush, she’ll hear you,” muttered Sir Arkroyd, warningly.

But he need not have feared.

Una sat like the dream-maiden in the ballad, deaf to all but the plash of the oars and the music of the birds.

Presently the stately pile of Hampton Court Palace glided, as it were, into their view, and with a long pull Dalrymple sent the boat to the island.

The two other boats were close behind, and then these grand people who were accustomed to be waited on hand and foot, got out and dragged hampers under the shadow of the oaks and willows; and the countess and Lady Clarence laid the cloth, while Lady Bell and the rest knelt beside the hampers and pulled out the things one by one. Then Sir Arkroyd was sent to lay the champagne bottles in the shallow water, and Dalrymple was handed a dish and the ingredients for making the salad.

In a few minutes luncheon was set out to the accompaniment of much laughter, and a few accidents. One of the champagne bottles had slid into the deep water, and disappeared to the bottom of the river to astonish the fish. The corkscrew followed it; and dismay fell on all, until the viscount calmly produced another from his pocket.

“Never go to a picnic without a corkscrew,” he said, shaking his head. “Generally have to produce it, too.”

Then there was much dragging about of hampers, and arranging of shawls and boat cushions to provide seats for the ladies; but at last all were seated, and Dalrymple, brandishing a knife in dangerous proximity to Lady Pierrepoint’s head, cut the first slice of raised pie.

Then it was discovered how easy it is to make jokes at a picnic. You can’t be stately and ceremonious sitting cross-legged on the grass, and balancing your plate on your knees; especially when, in consequence of there not being quite enough knives, you have to lend the one you are using to your next-door neighbor.

As usual, too, there were not quite enough plates and those dainty gentlemen, who went into fits if a fly fell into their wineglasses at the club, bent down on their hands and knees and washed plates in the river.

“And there is no rain,” said Lady Bell.

“Then one of us will have to fall into the river,” said the viscount, solemnly. “Must have rain or an accident at a picnic, you know. Will you have some more cream, Lady Earlsley?”

Lady Bell shook her head, laughingly.

“No, thanks; I have enjoyed it all immensely. Why cannot we have a picnic every day?”

But Una, who sat next her, had noticed that she scarcely touched anything.

“Let us go into Bushey Park, and turn savages,” said Dalrymple. “Halloa; speaking of savages, what a pity the Savage isn’t here. This is just in his line.”

Lady Bell bent down suddenly to take a flower from the cloth.

“Mr. Newcombe was detained in town,” she said, calmly; but Una could detect the faint quiver in her voice.

“Poor old Jack,” said Dalrymple, after a pause, “seems to be cut up about something lately. Do you remember how queer he was that night he came back from the country, Arkroyd?”

Lady Bell looked up suddenly.

“Let us go for a ramble. You may smoke, gentlemen,” she added. “Now don’t shake your heads as if you never did such a thing. I can see your cigar-case peeping out of your pocket, Lord Dalrymple.”

And linking her arm in Una’s, she sauntered away.

They strolled in silence for some minutes, until Una, happening to look up, saw that Lady Bell’s face was quite pale, and that something suspiciously like tears were veiling the brightness of the dark eyes.

“Lady Bell!” she murmured.

“Hush!” said Lady Bell, gently. “Don’t notice me, child! Oh, how sick I am of it all! What a long day it seems! How can they sit there laughing and chattering like a set of monkeys?”

“What is the matter?” said Una, in her low, musical voice.

“Nothing,” said Lady Bell, softly; then she paused and tried to laugh. “Una, my sweet, innocent, I’ve got a complaint which you know nothing of; it is called the heartache. There is no cure for it, I am afraid; at least, not for mine. Tut! there, there! your great, grave eyes torture me; they seem to go to the bottom of my soul. Not a word more. Here they come!”

And the next instant she turned round, all life and gayety.

Una sauntered on, her heart beating wildly. Was Lady Bell’s heartache produced by the absence of Jack Newcombe? Yes, that must be it!

With a sigh she drew away still further from the rest, and seating herself on the trunk of a tree by the riverside, watched the silver stream as it flowed past and was lost in the setting sun.

Suddenly she saw in the distance a white speck that looked like a bird, flitting up the middle of the stream. The speck grew larger; and she saw that it was a light boat putting toward the island.

Gradually it came nearer and nearer, and she saw that it contained one man only, and that he was clad in white flannel.

It was a light water-boat—a mere speck of white it looked now on the golden stream—and to Una, who had never seen an outrigger before, it seemed an almost impossible feat to sit in it.

But the sculler managed it with the greatest ease, and with every stroke sent it flying forward.

With regular rhythmical action he pulled on, and very soon she could see his great arms bared to the shoulders.

She watched it absently for some minutes, but presently the rower turned his head, and something in the movement struck her and made her heart bound.

Agitated and trembling she rose and stood staring down the stream.

A curve of the island hid the boat suddenly, and she stood watching for it to appear again; but the minutes passed on and it did not come. Then suddenly she heard a peal of laughter and the clatter of voices, and she knew that the boat had pulled into the island.

With a vague hope and dread commingled she sank to the seat again, and sat striving to still the wild beating of her heart.

Presently she heard her name called. It was Lady Bell’s voice, and how changed; there was no false ring in it now; clear and joyous it rang out:

“Una! Una! Where are you?”

There was no escape. She knew she must go, but she waited for full three minutes. Then, nerved to an unnatural calm, she rose and moved slowly forward. They were all seated again; she could see them.

Dalrymple and Sir Arkroyd were stretched at full length, smoking; the ladies, in their dainty sateens and pompadours, were grouped near them, and a little apart sat Lady Bell, a cup in one hand and a knife in the other, her face turned toward someone eating. Though his back was toward her, Una recognized him. It was Jack Newcombe. He had turned down his sleeves and put on his white flannel jacket, and was eating and chatting at one and the same time.

“Yes, better late than never,” she heard him say, and with every word of his deep, musical voice her heart leaped as if in glad response. “I found I could get away, and I jumped in the train, to learn at Richmond that you had just started. I got an outrigger, and here I am.”

“Just in time to help wash up,” said Dalrymple. “We’ve eaten all the strawberries, old man, and there isn’t much cream. It’s lucky for you there is any pie.”

“Don’t pay any attention to them, Mr. Newcombe,” said Lady Bell, and how soft and sweet her voice sounded, with its undertone of tenderness. “I am so sorry you are late. Do not let them hurry you. You must be so tired. Let me give you some ham—some tongue, then?”

And she herself cut a slice and put it on his plate.

“Don’t let me stop the fun,” said Jack, in his grave way. “Go on with your games. What was it—kiss-in-the-ring?”

There was a laugh; the lightest joke will serve at a picnic.

“I was haunted by the dread that I should come just in time to find everything cleared up. What a beautiful day! No, no more, thanks.”

“Let me give you some champagne,” said Lady Bell, and reached forward with the goblet in her hand.

Jack took it, and nodded over it in true picnic fashion.

“Thanks,” he said, and raised it to his lips.

At that moment Lady Bell looked up, and, seeing Una standing still and motionless, beckoned her.

Mechanically Una went round to her, and so stood in front of Jack.

His eyes were fixed at the bottom of the cup at the moment, but presently he lifted them, and, with a sharp cry, he let the cup fall to the ground and sprang to his feet.

And then he stood staring at her downcast face with startled eyes and pale countenance.

“Hallo! Take care!” cried Dalrymple. “What are you up to now, Savage? Anything bitten you?”

Lady Bell looked from one to the other, from Una’s white, downcast face to Jack’s pale, startled one.

“Una,” she breathed, “what is it?”

But Jack recovered himself.

“Just like you fellows,” he said. “Didn’t you know that you had pitched me on an ants’ nest? What did you say, Lady Bell? I beg your pardon. T don’t think there is much spilled, and there is nothing broken.”

And he knelt down and picked up the cup.

Lady Bell laughed.

“I couldn’t think what was the matter,” she said. “Are you really bitten?”

“Just like Jack,” said Sir Arkroyd, with philosophic calmness. “He is never happy unless he is breaking something. I give you my word that he smashes more glasses at the club than any other man.”

“Always was clumsy,” said Jack, with a constrained laugh.

Lady Bell smiled.

“You have quite frightened my friend, Miss Rolfe,” she said. “Una, this unfortunate gentleman is Mr. Newcombe.”

Jack had given her time, and she was able now to look at him calmly. Jack bowed, his eyes glancing at her as if they scarcely dared trust the evidence of their own senses.

“Pray forgive me,” he said. “I am very awkward. But I don’t break quite so many things as they say. Is there any more champagne, Lady Earlsley? I don’t deserve it, I know——”

Lady Bell took up a bottle.

“Pour this into the cup, Una,” she said, with a smile. “It is true he doesn’t deserve it, but we will be merciful.”

Una took the bottle and leaned forward, and as she did so Jack rose and stood before her, so that he screened her trembling hand from the eyes of the rest.

His own trembled, his own heart beat wildly; all else save the beautiful face so close to his own swam before his eyes.

Was he dreaming, or was it really she? He could not trust his eyes, he felt that he must touch her.

Slowly he put out his hand, and gently, tremblingly touched her white, slender wrist.

Instantly she raised her eyes and looked at him, a long, piteous look, as if he had struck her.

Yes, it was she. It was Una, his forest-maiden!

With a long breath he raised the cup to his lips and drained it, then sank down on the grass and took up his plate, scarcely knowing what he was doing.

The laughing voices around him seemed blurred and indistinct in his ears, the green trees and silver stream seemed to fade and vanish, and give place to the silent glade in which he had sat with the same beautiful girl bending over him.

Mechanically he went through the pretense of eating until a burst of laughter recalled him to himself.

“Look here!” shouted Dalrymple in boyish glee. “Here’s the Savage, busy eating nothing!”

Jack laughed, awakened to the sense of the situation. He must nerve himself, if only for her sake.

“It must be sunstroke,” he said lightly, staring at his empty plate. “Will somebody give me a piece of cake? I have always doted on cake. I like a piece with the candied peel on it, Lady Bell. Thanks. Now I am just going to begin my luncheon.”

“Those persons who are tired of watching the Savage satisfy his barbaric appetite are requested to withdraw!” drawled Dalrymple, and he leaped to his feet, laughing.

“Seriously, if anyone would like to go up to the palace, I’ve an open door. I should like a row.”

There was an instant clamor. Three parts of the party wanted to see the palace, and a couple of boat loads started.

Lady Clarence, Lady Bell, Una, and Jack remained.

He still kept up the pretense of eating and drinking; and Lady Bell, kneeling opposite him, seemed never to grow weary in supplying his wants.

Una, seated at a little distance, noticed with what eager attention she hung upon every word he uttered. And Jack kept on talking as if his life depended on it. But presently his patience came to an end.

He put down his plate resolutely.

“No more, thanks, or I shall be too heavy for the outrigger. Now, then, can’t I help pack up?”

But Lady Bell wouldn’t hear of it.

“No, you shall light your pipe,” she said, “and watch us. Come, Una. I know you are dying to help us.”

Una awoke with a start and knelt down beside the plates and dishes while Lady Bell went for the hamper.

Jack seized his opportunity. Bending forward, he whispered:

“Una!”

She half turned her face, pale and dreamy.

“Well?”

“Is it really you? How did you come here? Am I dreaming?”

“It is I,” she said, in her low, musical voice.

“But—but,” he said, “how did you come here? I did not know you were in London. I have been looking for you.”

Her heart gave a great leap. He had been looking for her.

“I have been searching for you everywhere, Una. Did you think I should not come back? I went to Warden——”

“Yes,” she said eagerly.

“And I found the cottage shut up and your people gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes, gone, and I did not know what to do. So I came to town, and—and I looked for you everywhere. Ah! you thought that I had forgotten you, as you had forgotten me.”

Her lovely face flushed, and she turned her dove-like eyes upon him, with a reproachful look in their depths.

“Forgotten him!”

“I cannot understand it,” he went on, drawing still nearer to her, his eyes eagerly scanning her face.

She smiled faintly. A great joy welled up in her heart, every nerve was tingling with happiness, she scarcely heard him. The words, “I have been searching for you,” rang in her ears.

“I scarcely understand it myself,” she said; “it seems like a dream.”

Jack glanced toward the bank. They had finished the packing, and would interrupt them in another minute.

“Where are you staying? You are on a visit?”

“I am staying with Mrs. Davenant,” said Una, in the same low voice.

Jack started, and the unlit pipe nearly fell from his hand.

“With Mrs. Davenant?” he exclaimed. “With Stephen’s mother?”

Una nodded.

“Yes; he has been very kind and good to me.”

Jack stared breathless.

“Stephen good to you!” he said, fiercely. “What do you mean? Am I dreaming?”

“It was he who came to Warden with Mrs. Davenant,” said Una, vaguely, troubled by the stern look of suspicion which had settled like a cloud on Jack’s face.

“I don’t understand,” he said grimly. “Stephen—Stephen! How did he know of your existence?”

“Some friend,” said Una; “I do not quite know. At any rate, it was through him. And I like Mrs. Davenant.”

Jack nodded.

“Yes, she is a good woman. But Stephen——”

And he passed his hand over his brow.

Una looked at him timidly.

“Are you angry?” she asked.

“Angry! with you!” he exclaimed, bending nearer, with a look of tender devotion. “How could you think it? No, I am not angry—only puzzled. I cannot make it out. Never mind! don’t look so troubled, my dear—Miss Rolfe, I mean. At any rate, I have found you. Oh, Una!—Miss Rolfe, I mean—if you knew how I have searched for you, and”—with a groan—“what a fool I have been!”

“I thought you had forgotten me,” said Una, with that sweet humility of love.

Jack’s eyes gleamed.

“I have not forgotten you for one moment—not for one moment! Una, I——Oh, confound it! here they are.”

He broke off impatiently, as Lady Bell and the rest came back.

“What are we going to do now?” she said, with her bright smile. “Some of them have gone to the palace. Shall we wait for them, or go and meet them! What do you say, Mr. Newcombe?”

But Jack would not stir.

“They’ll come back,” he said, absently, his eyes drawn toward the downcast face.

How lovely it was! If they would only all go away, and leave them alone! He had so much to say—so much to ask.

But Lady Bell showed no sign of going; instead, she threw herself down on the grass beside them, and commenced to talk.

Had he enjoyed the pull up? Why had he not driven down with them? She didn’t believe in particular business; and so on.

Jack pulled at his pipe, and returned absent, scarcely civil answers. At last Lady Bell noticed his abstraction, and turned her head away in silence.

Meanwhile Una sat speechless, her face turned toward the river, her whole soul absorbed by his presence. It frightened her, this feeling of absorption. She found herself waiting and listening for every word that dropped from his lips as if her life depended on it. She trembled lest he should touch her.

His manner filled her with an ecstasy of pleasure that was almost pain. How handsome he looked, stretched out at full length, his tanned face turned to the sky, his tawny mustache sweeping his clear cut lips; she felt, rather than knew, that his eyes sought her face, and she dared not turn her eyes toward him, though she longed to do so.