Stephen was silent for a minute or two, then he turned to the writing table and wrote for some minutes. "Go to Moss to-morrow morning," he said, "and tell him not to press Mr. Newcombe, and I don't think he will require more than the hint--but you may say I will buy all Mr. Newcombe's bills at a fair price. Mind! I want every I O U and bill that Mr. Newcombe gives. You understand?" "I understand, Mr. Stephen," said Slummers, and a faint, malicious smile stole over his face. "And if Mr. Moss likes to oblige Mr. Newcombe with a little loan, I will take the bill. You understand?" Slummers nodded. "Here is the letter to Moss for his own satisfaction. He will not mention my name." Slummers took the note. Stephen passed his hand over his forehead, and turned his back to the light. "Any--any other news, Slummers?" Slummers smiled behind his hand. "I have been to Cheltenham Terrace. We were rightly informed, sir. Old Mr. Treherne is dead, and Miss Treherne has disappeared." Stephen drew a breath of relief. "Indeed," he said. "Very good. Let me see, is there anything else?" Slummers coughed. "Nothing, sir, except to remind you that you have to speak at the charitable meeting tomorrow night." "Ah, yes, thank you, very good, Slummers. Be good enough to hand me the last charitable reports. Good-night." CHAPTER XXVIII. Happy! If ever two young people were happy, Una and Jack were. To Una the days passed like a happy dream time. Her sky was without a cloud; it almost seemed as if the world had been made for her, so entirely did everything lend itself to her enjoyment. Every morning, soon after breakfast, Jack's quick, buoyant step was heard ascending the stone steps of the house in Walmington Square, and he would come marching into the breakfast room with some palpable excuse about his just happening to pass, and Mrs. Davenant would smile her gentle welcome, and Una--well, Una's eyes were eloquent, if her tongue was mute, and would speak volumes. And Jack would lounge about for an hour, telling them all the news, and perhaps smoking a cigarette, just inside the conservatory; and Una was sure to find an excuse for being near him. Indeed, if that young lady could be within touching distance of her god and hero, she seemed passing content. He was the very light of her life, soul of her soul; every day seemed to increase the passionate devotion of her first, her maiden love, for the wild, young ne'er-do-well. And she was repaid. Jack thought that there never had been, since Eve began the sex, such a marvel of beauty and grace and virtue as Una. He would sit for half-an-hour smoking and watching her in silence.