"Jack Newcombe!" exclaimed Mrs. Davenant, looking at the card which Mary had brought in. "Jack Newcombe!" she repeated a second time. "My dear, come here!" Una was sitting beside the open window, a book in her lap, her eyes fixed on the sun setting just behind the chimneys. "Yes," she said, her face flushed, her eyes glowing as if the sun were reflected in them; but she did not move. Mrs. Davenant hurried across the room with the card in her hand. "Una, dear, see here," she said, nervously. "Here is Jack Newcombe! You've heard me speak of him." Una, feeling guilty and deceitful, hung her head. Her heart beat fast. For two days she had waited and watched for him--never for a moment had he been absent from her mind. And now he was here, in the next room. "Yes," she said, "I--I remember." "Well, my dear, I don't know what to do. I don't know what he wants--do you?--but of course you don't!" Una flushed crimson to her very neck. "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----" "But why didn't you tell me?" said Mrs. Davenant, looking distressed and frightened. Una felt guilty. "I don't know," she said in reply. "I think it was because I knew you would feel angry." Mrs. Davenant stared at her. It was like the reply of a child in its simple, naked truth. "Well, well," she said, with a troubled voice, "of course you couldn't help it, and I couldn't help it. And"--here the door opened quietly, and Jack's head appeared, and Mrs. Davenant started. Seeing that they were alone, Jack came in with his usual coolness, though his heart beat; and he crossed the room, and took Mrs. Davenant's hand and kissed her forehead. And the poor woman melted in a moment, as she always did when Jack was actually present. As a matter of simple truth, she was really as fond of him as if he had been her own son, and but for Stephen, Jack would have seen her oftener. He had lost his mother in early boyhood, and the kind-hearted, affectionate, timid Mrs. Davenant had often dried his boyish tears and held him in her arms. Even now, notwithstanding Jack's wickedness, of which Stephen made the most, her heart went out toward him. He had not been near her for some months, nearly a year, all through Stephen, and she had almost given him up; but Jack's kiss revived all the old tenderness. And what woman could resist his handsome face and frank, manly way?