"Oh, Mrs. Westall, how beautiful it was!" Una fixed her with large
limpid eyes. "You believe it all, I suppose?" she asked with
seraphic gravity.
"All--what, my dear child?"
The girl shone on her. "About the higher life--the freer expansion
of the individual--the law of fidelity to one's self," she glibly
recited.
Mrs. Westall, to her own wonder, blushed a deep and burning blush.
"My dear Una," she said, "you don't in the least understand what
it's all about!"
Miss Van Sideren stared, with a slowly answering blush. "Don't
_you_, then?" she murmured.
Mrs. Westall laughed. "Not always--or altogether! But I should like
some tea, please."
Una led her to the corner where innocent beverages were dispensed.
As Julia received her cup she scrutinized the girl more carefully.
It was not such a girlish face, after all--definite lines were
forming under the rosy haze of youth. She reflected that Una must be
six-and-twenty, and wondered why she had not married. A nice stock
of ideas she would have as her dower! If _they_ were to be a part of
the modern girl's trousseau--
Mrs. Westall caught herself up with a start. It was as though some
one else had been speaking--a stranger who had borrowed her own
voice: she felt herself the dupe of some fantastic mental
ventriloquism. Concluding suddenly that the room was stifling and
Una's tea too sweet, she set down her cup, and looked about for
Westall: to meet his eyes had long been her refuge from every
uncertainty.
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