“Thank you, my dear,” murmured Mrs. Davenant.
“But how,” went on Una, after thinking a moment, “how did his friend know anything about me? Did my father——”
“I don’t know, Una,” said Mrs. Davenant, nervously. “Stephen doesn’t always tell me everything; you see he has so much to think of, and just now he is in great trouble, you know.”
“Ah! yes,” said Una, gently; “and he had not time to tell you. But he will. I am sorry he is in such trouble.” Then, after a pause, she said: “Are you rich?”
Mrs. Davenant started. The question, so unusual and so strange, bewildered her by its suddenness and its frankness.
“Rich, my dear?” she said. “Yes—I suppose I am rich.”
“And he is rich?”
“He will be, perhaps; we do not know until his uncle’s will is read.”
“I know what a will is,” said Una, with a smile. “It is the paper which a man leaves when he dies, saying to whom he wishes his money to go. And Stephen——”
“You should say Mr. Stephen, or Mr. Davenant, my dear,” she said. “I don’t mind your calling him Stephen, but—but——” She looked round in despair. How was she to explain to this frank, beautiful girl the laws of etiquette? “But everyone who speaks of those to whom they are not related say Mr., or Mrs., or Miss.”