“Don’t talk to her at present, Elsie,” he said. “You needn’t be afraid. Una’s found out everything. She remembers all now. And she knows how everything happened. And she’s borne it so bravely, without any more shock to her health and strength than was absolutely inevitable.—Let her sleep if she can. It’ll do her so much good.—But, Elsie, there’s one thing I want to say to you both before I hand her over to you. After all that’s happened, I don’t think Una’ll want to hear that hateful name of Callingham any more. It never was really hers, and it never shall be. We’ll let bygones be bygones in every other respect, and not rake up any details of that hateful story. But she’s been Una to us always, and she shall be Una still. It’s a very good name for her: for there’s only one of her. But next week, I propose, she shall be Una Ivor.”
I threw myself on his neck, and cried again like a child.
“I accept, Jack,” I said, sobbing. “Let it be Ivor, if you will. Next week, then, I’ll be your wife at last, my darling!”