“Yes, I suppose so,” assented Una.
“I can understand now how useful fiction really is,” murmured Mrs. Davenant. “It is by it alone that a future age will understand what ours is. You are entering upon some strange experiences, Miss Rolfe.”
Una started; the name was so unfamiliar to her that she hardly recognized it.
“Please don’t call me that,” she said, laying her hand on Mrs. Davenant’s arm. “My name is Eunice—Una. Call me Una.”
“I will,” said Mrs. Davenant.
“You have promised to love me, you know.”
“A promise easy to keep, my dear,” she said, and her eyes grew moist. “I little thought when my son Stephen telegraphed to meet him that he was taking me to a daughter.”
“Your son Stephen—he sent for you!” said Una, with frank curiosity. “How did he know of my existence?”
“Through some friend,” said Mrs. Davenant, with much hesitation and nervous embarrassment. “My son is a very good man, and always interesting himself in some good cause or other—something that will benefit his fellow creatures. You—you will like my son when you know more of him,” she added, and though she spoke with pride there was a touch of something like fear in her voice, which always came when she mentioned his name or spoke of his goodness.
“Yes,” said Una, simply, “I will for your sake.”