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.