Small as the houses are in Walmington Square, Una, accustomed only to the small room in the hut, thought that this dining-room was large enough to be the banquet hall of princes.
But, whatever surprise Una felt, she, mindful of her resolve, concealed.
Not even the maid in waiting could find anything to condemn. When she went down-stairs her verdict was favorable.
“Whoever she is,” she said, “she’s a lady. But where on earth she comes from, goodness only knows. A plain muslin dress that might have come out of the ark.”
Dinner was over at last. A “last” that seemed to Una an eternity. Mrs. Davenant rose and beckoned her to follow, and they went into the drawing-room.
“Are you very tired, Una?”
“No,” said Una, thinking of her long wanderings in Warden Forest, “not tired at all, but very surprised.”
“Surprised?” said Mrs. Davenant, questioningly.
“Yes. Do all the people in London live like this—in such beautiful houses, with people to wait upon them, and with so many things to eat, and with such pretty things in the houses?”
“Not all,” said Mrs. Davenant, watching the tall, graceful figure as it moved to and fro—“not all. But it would take too long to explain. You think these are pretty things; what will you say when you see the great sights—sights which we Londoners think nothing of?”