"Una had, as I've told you, a lover; and they were to have been married on her twentieth birthday. Her wedding dress was to have been a gown of white brocade with purple violets in it. But a little while before it she took ill with fever and died; and she was buried on her birthday instead of being married. It was just in the time of opening roses.

The charm, however, that murmured its many-toned music through the soul of Una O'Brien was not, upon the evening in question, wholly free from a shade of melancholy for which she could not account; and this impression did not result from any previous examination of her love for Connor O'Donovan, though many such she had.

But a misfortune came to them in the illness of Una, who was taken with Roman fever, and her life was despaired of. Hawthorne always took his sorrows hard, and he suffered much in this period of anxiety, enduring in his stoic way the heavy pressure; happily the doctor proved mistaken in his confidence that the child would die, and though her illness was long, she gradually recovered strength.

"Una," she said gravely, "you had better call Captain Tremayne and take him away for the present." Una's eyes opened wide. "Why?" she inquired. Miss Armytage was almost impatient with her. "Didn't you see? Resentment is only slumbering between those men. It will break out again now that we have left them unless you can get Captain Tremayne away."

The office-manager came casually up to Una's desk and said, "You haven't taken any dictation yet, have you?" "No, but," with urgent eagerness, "I'd like I'm quite fast in stenography." "Well, Mr. Babson, in the editorial department, wants to give some dictation and you might try " Una was so excited that she called herself a silly little fool.

Without knowing precisely what she was trying to do, Una was testing Mr. Schwirtz according to the somewhat contradictory standards of culture which she had acquired from Walter Babson, Mamie Magen, Esther Lawrence, Mr.

The world was full of summer sunshine after the rain. It was a peerless day for house-cleaning and Faith and Una went gaily to work. "We'll clean the dining-room and the parlour," said Faith. "It wouldn't do to meddle with the study, and it doesn't matter much about the upstairs. The first thing is to take everything out." Accordingly, everything was taken out.

He looked into her face with sharply questioning eyes. "What was it that happened at Tavora?" He continued to look at her. "What have you heard?" he asked at last. "Only that he has done something at Tavora for which the consequences, I gather, may be grave. I am anxious for Una's sake to know what it is." "Does Una know?" "She is being told now. Count Samoval let slip just what I have outlined.

I have watched her smile at you, and seen her eyes while she talked to you, and I can tell you something more, something that perhaps you do not know the girl loves you." Again Neal flushed. His uncle had put into words what he had never yet dared to think. He loved Una. His uncle had assured him of something else, something so glorious as to be incredible. Una loved him.

Though, in keeping with the general school-boyishness of the institution, the study-room supervisors tried to prevent conversation, there was always a current of whispering and low talk, and Sam Weintraub gave Una daily reports of the tennis, the dances, the dinners at the Prospect Athletic Club. Her evident awe of his urban amusements pleased him.