“No,” said Una; “I am so anxious to see the world, you know.”
“Well, we will begin today.”
“Una, you know I wish you to be quite—to be very happy with me. And—and I hope if there is anything that you want you will ask for it without hesitation.”
“Anything I want?” repeated Una, with a smile. “Is it possible that any one could want anything more than is here? There seems to be everything. I was thinking, as you spoke, of what my father would say if he saw this table, with all the things to eat, and the silver and glass.”
“My dear child, this is nothing. I live very simply. If you saw, as you will see, some of the homes of the wealthy, some of the homes of the aristocracy, you would discover that what you deem luxury is merely comfort.”
“I was never uncomfortable at the cottage,” said Una, gravely.
“That is because you were unused to anything better, and—and—you must not speak of the past life too much, Una. I mean to strangers. Strangers are so curious, and—and my son, Stephen, does not wish everyone to know where you come from and how you lived.”
“Does he not? Well, I will not speak of it; but I do not understand—quite——”
“Neither do I. I am afraid I do not always understand Stephen; but—but I always do as he tells me.”
And she looked up with the anxious, questioning expression which Una noticed was always present when Stephen Davenant was mentioned. Was Mrs. Davenant afraid of her son?