“So that when she commands such as I am I must obey,” said Una, with her low, musical laugh.
“Just so,” said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh. “But you will be careful, my dear. I mean, don’t—don’t let her put you forward, remind her of her promise to keep you at her side.”
“I think I would rather not go.”
“Don’t be frightened, my dear,” said Mrs. Davenant, kindly; but Una’s calm, steady look of response showed her that there was no fear in the young, innocent heart.
“No, I am not frightened,” she said. “I do not know what I am to fear.”
Having consented to Una’s going, Mrs. Davenant lost no time in making the few necessary preparations. She selected a plain but rich evening dress, set her own maid to make the required alterations, selected from her own store a sort of old Honiton, and gave orders that some white flowers should be bought at Covent Garden the next morning.
“White flowers, my dear,” she said, nervously. “Because I—I am not sure that Stephen would not consider that your being in the house with me you are not in mourning. But, then, you are no relation, my dear.”
“I wish I were,” said Una, kissing her.