“Perhaps,” said Una, with her eyes fixed on the fire—“perhaps Lady Bell pressed him to stay to dinner, and he will be here presently.”
“That must be it,” said Mrs. Davenant, hopefully. “He will come in directly, making a most tremendous noise, and raging against whatever has been keeping him. Jack’s rages are dreadful while they last—they don’t last long!”
Una smiled, and listened.
Stephen entered—so noiselessly that she almost started—and stooped over his mother.
“There are some things in the breakfast room I brought from London, will you go and see to them?”
Mrs. Davenant rose instantly.
“Una, dear,” she said, “see to the tea, I will be back directly.”
Una nodded, and sat down at the gypsy table. Stephen stood beside the fire, one white hand stretched out to the blaze, his face turned toward her, his eyes watching her under their lowered lids. His heart beat nervously, the task before him seemed to overmaster him, and he shrank from it; with one hand he felt Jack’s letter, lying like an asp in his breast coat pocket.
“There is a cold wind tonight,” he said absently. “Jack said the wind had gone round this morning.”
“Jack,” said Una, raising her eyes, with a sudden flame of color in her face. “Have you seen him? You have been to Earl’s Court?”