“I think you had better go, my dear,” said Mrs. Davenant, fidgeting with the card.
Una did not move.
“Why?” she asked, raising her eyes for the first time.
Mrs. Davenant moved her head nervously.
“Because—I don’t think Stephen—I mean—Jack Newcombe is the sort of man you ought to know.”
“But,” said Una, softly and with a steady look in her dark eyes, “I do know him already.”
Mrs. Davenant stared.
“You know him? Jack Newcombe?”
Una nodded.
“Yes,” she said in a low voice. “I met him up the river. I saw him at Lady Bell’s—he is a friend of hers——”