“Yes, I shall miss my trees. But this—this world seems so large; I thought that——”
“Well,” said Mrs. Davenant, amused with her bewilderment.
“I thought that people in the world knew each other; but that is impossible.”
And she sighed, as she thought that, after all, now that she was in the world, she was no nearer that one being who, for her, was the principal person in it.
“Very few people know each other, Una. It’s a big world, this London. I wonder whether you will be happy?”
Una turned to her with a look upon her face that would have melted a sterner heart than Mrs. Davenant’s.
“I shall be happy, if you will love me,” she said.
Something in the frank, simple reply made Mrs. Davenant tremble. What had she undertaken in the charge of this simple, pure-natured girl, whose beauty caused people to turn and stare at her, and whose innocence was that of a child?
Through miles and miles of streets, as it seemed to Una, the cab made its slow, rumbling way; houses, that were palaces in her eyes, flitted past; and at last they stopped before a palace, as it seemed to Una, in a quiet square.
The door of the house opened, and a servant came out and opened the cab door.