“I—I don’t know. Never mind, my dear,” said Mrs. Davenant, as the brougham stopped.
“You are a strange child, and—and you say such strange things so naturally that I am puzzled to know how to speak to you.”
CHAPTER XIX.
As the days passed on, Mrs. Davenant grew to understand more fully the innocent but frank and brave nature of the beautiful girl whom her son Stephen had so strangely committed to her charge; grew to understand and to love her, and, bit by bit, her nervousness and timidity wore off in Una’s presence. Insensibly she grew to lean and rely on the girl, who, with all her innocence and ignorance of the world, was so gently calm and self-possessed, and Una, in return, lavished her love upon the timid, shrinking woman.
Mrs. Davenant had heard no word from Stephen; she was accustomed to such silence, and almost dreaded to hear, lest it should be a message tearing Una from her side. She did not know that Stephen was master of Hurst Leigh and all the immense wealth of Ralph Davenant.
Una did not know that Jack Newcombe was back here in London, almost within half an hour of her. When she thought of her father and mother there in Warden, it was always with the confident trust that they were well, for she felt that if it were otherwise, Gideon would somehow let her know. She was quite ignorant that the cottage was empty and deserted.
Indeed, there was not much time for thought. Day after day brought its succession of wonderful sights and experiences, as the little green brougham bore them about town, and Mrs. Davenant showed her all the marvels of the great city.
Una was dazzled, bewildered sometimes: but her instinctive good taste helped her to keep back all extravagant expressions of surprise on her voyage through Fairyland.
One day, however, an exclamation of delight escaped her, as she came in sight of a jeweler’s window, opposite which the brougham had stopped.