Jack rose without a word; he had been choosing papers and decorations for a week past, and it did not seem strange. Luncheon was announced while they were discussing the paper, and Jack gave her his arm. Mrs. Fellowes was the only other person present, and she sat reading a novel, deaf and blind to all else. Not but what she might have heard every word, for the young people talked of the most commonplace subjects, and Jack was very absent-minded, thinking of Una, and quite unconscious of the light which beamed in Lady Bell’s eyes when they rested on him.
Then they rode in the Row; he could do no less than offer to accompany her, and Mrs. Fellowes wanted to see a piece at one of the theaters, and Jack went to book seats, and took one for himself, and sat staring at the stage and thinking of Una; but he sat behind Lady Bell’s chair, and spoke to her occasionally, and Lady Bell was content.
Hetley and Arkroyd were in the stalls, and saw him.
“Jack’s making the running,” said Lord Dalrymple, eying the box through his opera glass. “He’s the winning horse, and we, the field, are nowhere.”
And not only those two, but many others, remarked on Jack’s close attendance on the great heiress, and not a few who would have gone to the box if he had not been there, kept away.
Meanwhile, Jack, simple, unsuspecting Jack, was bestowing scarcely a thought on the beautiful woman by his side, and thinking of Una miles away.
The theater over, and Lady Bell put into the carriage, he looked in at the club, sauntered into the card-room, smoked a cigar in the smoking-room, and then went home to Spider Court.
Much to his surprise he found Leonard up, not only up, but pacing the room, his face flushed and agitated.
“Hallo!” exclaimed Jack, “what’s the matter? And where on earth have you been?”
“Jack, I have found her!”