“My dear Jack,” he exclaimed, reproachfully, “what have you been doing?”
“Falling under a cab,” said Jack, gravely.
“A cab!” retorted Leonard; “a lady’s brougham, you mean!”
And he took the card to the light.
“Why!” he exclaimed, with an expression of amazement. “Lady Isabel Earlsley! Good Heaven! that’s the heiress.”
“Eh?” said Jack, indifferently. “What’s her name? She’s a brick, if ever there was one. Oh, Jupiter, I wish I was in bed!”
CHAPTER XVIII.
It was Una’s first night in London. Weary as she was she could not find sleep; the dull roar of the great city—which those who are used to take no heed of—rang in her ears and kept her awake. Her brain was busy, too; and even as she closed her eyes the endless questions, which the strange events of the day had given birth to, pursued and tormented her. She could scarcely realize that she had left Warden Forest, that she was here in London, the place of her most ardent dreams! And then how singular, how mysterious was that coincidence which had brought it about.
Until Jack Newcombe, the young stranger, had come to Warden, she had never heard the name of Davenant, and now she was actually living under the roof of Stephen Davenant’s mother.