Una was sitting beside the open window, a book in her lap, her eyes fixed on the sun setting just behind the chimneys.
“Yes,” she said, her face flushed, her eyes glowing as if the sun were reflected in them; but she did not move.
Mrs. Davenant hurried across the room with the card in her hand.
“Una, dear, see here,” she said, nervously. “Here is Jack Newcombe! You’ve heard me speak of him.”
Una, feeling guilty and deceitful, hung her head.
Her heart beat fast. For two days she had waited and watched for him—never for a moment had he been absent from her mind.
And now he was here, in the next room.
“Yes,” she said, “I—I remember.”
“Well, my dear, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what he wants—do you?—but of course you don’t!”
Una flushed crimson to her very neck.