"Here is my card," she said, taking a card-case from the carriage basket. "Will you please let me know? Good-night." And she held out her hand. Leonard did not see it, and merely raised his hat. But Jack, who was nearest, took the hand and held it for a moment. "Good-night, good-night," he said. "I shall never forgive myself for causing you trouble." And in his earnestness his hand, quite unconsciously, closed tightly on her white, warm palm. Lady Bell dropped back into her seat, a warm flush spreading over her face; and Mrs. Fellowes, awakened by the stopping of the brougham, exclaimed, with a yawn: "Home at last!" "No, miles away," said Lady Bell. "Go to sleep again, my dear." Leonard took Jack's arm within his, though there was no occasion for it, for Jack was sober enough now, and led him upstairs. "My dear Jack," he exclaimed, reproachfully, "what have you been doing?" "Falling under a cab," said Jack, gravely. "A cab!" retorted Leonard; "a lady's brougham, you mean!" And he took the card to the light. "Why!" he exclaimed, with an expression of amazement. "Lady Isabel Earlsley! Good Heaven! that's the heiress." "Eh?" said Jack, indifferently. "What's her name? She's a brick, if ever there was one. Oh, Jupiter, I wish I was in bed!" CHAPTER XVIII. It was Una's first night in London. Weary as she was she could not find sleep; the dull roar of the great city--which those who are used to take no heed of--rang in her ears and kept her awake. Her brain was busy, too; and even as she closed her eyes the endless questions, which the strange events of the day had given birth to, pursued and tormented her. She could scarcely realize that she had left Warden Forest, that she was here in London, the place of her most ardent dreams! And then how singular, how mysterious was that coincidence which had brought it about. Until Jack Newcombe, the young stranger, had come to Warden, she had never heard the name of Davenant, and now she was actually living under the roof of Stephen Davenant's mother. With half-closed eyes she recalled all that Jack had said about Stephen Davenant, and it did not require much effort to recall anything Jack had said, for every word was graven on her heart, and it had seemed to her as if he had spoken disparagingly of this Stephen, and had implied that he was not as good as he was supposed to be. She herself, as she lay, her beautiful head pillowed on her round white arm, was conscious of a strange feeling which had taken possession of her in Stephen's presence--not of dislike, but something of doubt, something also of a vague fear. And yet he could not but be good and generous, for was it not to him that she owed all that had happened to her? And did not his mother, the timid, gentle woman who had already won Una's heart, speak of him as great and good?