In silent wonderment Una entered the hall, lit with its gas-lamps and lined with flowers, and followed Mrs. Davenant into what was really the drawing-room of a house in Walmington Square; but which seemed to Una to be the principal apartment in some enchanted castle.
But true to her resolve, she stood calm and silent, feeling, rather than seeing, that the eyes of the servant were fixed upon her with curious interest.
“Come upstairs, Una, dear,” said Mrs. Davenant, and Una followed her into another fairy chamber. Flowers, of which Mrs. Davenant, like most nervous persons, was inordinately fond, seemed everywhere: they lined the staircase and the landing, and bloomed in every available corner.
Mrs. Davenant entered her own room, then opened a door into an adjoining one.
“This is your room, my dear,” she said. “If—if—you like it——”
“Like it!” said Una, with open eyes and beating heart. “Is—is this really mine?” and she looked round the dainty room with incredulous admiration.
“If—if you like it, my dear,” said Mrs. Davenant.
“How could I do otherwise? It is too beautiful for me——”
“I don’t think anything could be too beautiful for you, Una,” said Mrs. Davenant, with a significance that was entirely lost on Una. “If there is anything you want—I can’t give you any trees, you know.”
“I shan’t want trees while the flowers are here. It is nothing but flowers.”