Palmyra.

When she burst into the room, she called out lightly as she entered:

"Well, I've got you your lemon, Una, and I do hope--" Then she broke
short suddenly. "Oh, Jack," she cried, faltering, and half guessing
the truth, "what's the meaning of this? Why, Una's been crying. You
bad boy, you've been frightening her. I oughtn't to have left her
ten minutes alone with you!"

Jack rose and held up his hand in warning.

"Don't talk to her at present, Elsie," he said. "You needn't be
afraid. Una's found out everything. She remembers all now. And she
knows how everything happened. And she's borne it so bravely,
without any more shock to her health and strength than was
absolutely inevitable.--Let her sleep if she can. It'll do her so
much good.--But, Elsie, there's one thing I want to say to you both
before I hand her over to you. After all that's happened, I don't
think Una'll want to hear that hateful name of Callingham any more.
It never was really hers, and it never shall be. We'll let bygones
be bygones in every other respect, and not rake up any details of
that hateful story. But she's been Una to us always, and she shall
be Una still. It's a very good name for her: for there's only one of
her. But next week, I propose, she shall be Una Ivor."

I threw myself on his neck, and cried again like a child.

"I accept, Jack," I said, sobbing. "Let it be Ivor, if you will.
Next week, then, I'll be your wife at last, my darling!"