Fairmont had been to her a mount of beauty on the summit of which stretched the abode of her Belovedest. The chauffeur, still smiling,—for who could talk sour-faced to Stellamaris?—pointed to the gate.
“There it is written, miss,—'Fairmont.' ”
She alighted, tears very near her eyes, and passing through the gates and tiny front garden, rang the bell. The door was opened by a common-looking, undersized girl of about her own age, dressed in a tartan blouse and a brown stuff skirt. Her nose was snub, her mouth wide, her forehead bulged, and her skimpy hair was buckled up tight with combs on the top of her head. There was a moment's breathless silence as the two girls stared at each other. At last Unity's face broke into a miracle of gladness, which transfigured her plain features. She retreated a step or two along the passage.
“Miss Stella! Miss Stella!” she gasped, and as Stella, still more amazed and bewildered, said nothing, she drew nearer. “It is Miss Stella, is n't it?” she asked.
“Yes,” Stella answered. She paused; then, recovering herself, went on rather hurriedly: “I 've seen you before. You are the girl who came once into my room—I remember—Constable tore my jacket—you were mending it—”
“Yes, miss,” said the other, forgetful, in the sudden excitement of again seeing her goddess face to face, of the precepts of gentility in which Miss Lindon had trained her.
“It all comes back, though it was long, long ago—ever so many years ago. Your name is Unity.”
“Yes, Miss Stella.”
“But what in the world are you doing here?”
“Mr. Risca is my guardian. I keep house for him—I and Aunt Gladys.”