Una, quite unconscious of their scrutiny, was sitting looking dreamily into the street with its ceaseless throng of carriages and people. Lady Bell had hit upon a happy simile; she looked like some beautiful bird, half stupefied by the strange life moving around her.
Mrs. Davenant rose; but Lady Bell, with a gentle pressure, forced her back into her seat.
“Not this minute; leave her for a minute. See what a beautiful picture she makes! New to London! Do you know what will happen when London finds that she is in its midst?”
Mrs. Davenant looked up helplessly. She, too, looked like a bird—like some frightened pigeon in the clutch of a glittering hawk.
“You can’t guess,” went on Lady Bell, with a smile. “Well, it will make a queen of her—all London will be at her feet within a month, and I—I shall be dethroned.”
The last few words were spoken—- murmured—almost inaudible, and in a tone that was half sad, half mocking. But suddenly her mood changed; and with a smile that lit up her face, and seemed to dance like a flash of sunlight from eyes to lips and back again, she said:
“At any rate be mine the credit of discovering her. I am the first at the shrine of the new goddess!” and touching Una’s hand with the top of her gloved finger, she said: “Miss Rolfe, Mrs. Davenant has been kind enough to promise to come and see me tomorrow night. Are you fond of dancing?”
“I don’t know,” said Una, with a smile. “I do not know how to dance——”
“Heavens!” murmured Lady Bell.
“You forget, Lady Bell,” murmured poor Mrs. Davenant.