The Testing of Diana Mallory Read online

  CHAPTER II

  During the days immediately following her arrival at Beechcote, Mrs.Colwood applied herself to a study of Miss Mallory and hersurroundings--none the less penetrating because the student was modestand her method unperceived. She divined a nature unworldly, impulsive,steeped, moreover, for all its spiritual and intellectual force, whichwas considerable, in a kind of sensuous romance--much connected withconcrete things and symbols, places, persons, emblems, or relics, anycontact with which might at any time bring the color to the girl'scheeks and the tears to her eyes. _Honor_--personal or national--theword was to Diana like a spark to dry leaves. Her whole nature flamed toit, and there were moments when she walked visibly transfigured in theglow of it. Her mind was rich, moreover, in the delicate, inchoatelovers, the half-poetic, half-intellectual passions, the mysticalyearnings and aspirations, which haunt a pure expanding youth. Suchhuman beings, Mrs. Colwood reflected, are not generally made forhappiness. But there were also in Diana signs both of practical abilityand of a rare common-sense. Would this last avail to protect her fromher enthusiasms? Mrs. Colwood remembered a famous Frenchwoman of whom itwas said: "Her _judgment_ is infallible--her _conduct_ one longmistake!" The little companion was already sufficiently attached to MissMallory to hope that in this case a natural tact and balance might notbe thrown away.

  As to suitors and falling in love, the natural accompaniments of such acharming youth, Mrs. Colwood came across no traces of anything of thesort. During her journey with her father to India, Japan, and America,Miss Mallory had indeed for the first time seen something of society.But in the villa beside the Mediterranean it was evident that her lifewith her father had been one of complete seclusion. She and he had livedfor each other. Books, sketching, long walks, a friendly interest intheir peasant neighbors--these had filled their time.

  It took, indeed, but a short time to discover in Miss Mallory a hungerfor society which seemed to be the natural result of long starvation.With her neighbors the Roughsedges she was already on the friendliestterms. To Dr. Roughsedge, who was infirm, and often a prisoner to hislibrary, she paid many small attentions which soon won the heart of anold student. She was in love with Mrs. Roughsedge's gray curls andmotherly ways; and would consult her about servants and tradesmen withan eager humility. She liked the son, it seemed, for the parents' sake,nor was it long before he was allowed--at his own pressing request--tohelp in hanging pictures and arranging books at Beechcote. A girl'smanner with young men is always a matter of interest to older women.Mrs. Colwood thought that Diana's manner to the young soldier could nothave been easily bettered. It was frank and gay--with just that tinge ofold-fashioned reserve which might be thought natural in a girl of gentlebreeding, brought up alone by a fastidious father. With all herimpetuosity, indeed, there was about her something markedly virginaland remote, which is commoner, perhaps, in Irish than English women.Mrs. Colwood watched the effect of it on Captain Roughsedge. After herthird day of acquaintance with him, she said to herself: "He will fallin love with her!" But she said it with compassion, and withouttroubling to speculate on the lady. Whereas, with regard to the Marshamvisit, she already--she could hardly have told why--found herself fullof curiosity.

  Meanwhile, in the few days which elapsed before that visit was due,Diana was much called on by the country-side. The girl restrained herrestlessness, and sat at home, receiving everybody with a friendlinesswhich might have been insipid but for its grace and spontaneity. Shedisliked no one, was bored by no one. The joy of her home-coming seemedto halo them all. Even the sour Miss Bertrams could not annoy her; shethought them sensible and clever; even the tiresome Mrs. Minchin ofMinchin Hall, the "gusher" of the county, who "adored" all mankind andill-treated her step-daughter, even she was dubbed "very kind," tillMrs. Roughsedge, next day, kindled a passion in the girl's eyes by sometales of the step-daughter. Mrs. Colwood wondered whether, indeed, she_could_ be bored, as Mrs. Minchin had not achieved it. Those who talkeasily and well, like Diana, are less keenly aware, she thought, of theplatitudes of their neighbors. They are not defenceless, like the shyand the silent.

  Nevertheless, it was clear that if Diana welcomed the neighbors withpleasure she often saw them go with relief. As soon as the house wasclear of them, she would stand pensively by the fire, looking down intothe blaze like one on whom a dream suddenly descends--then would oftencall her dog, and go out alone, into the winter twilight. From theserambles she would return grave--sometimes with reddened eyes. But at alltimes, as Mrs. Colwood soon began to realize, there was but a thin lineof division between her gayety and some inexplicable sadness, someunspoken grief, which seemed to rise upon her and overshadow her, like acloud tangled in the woods of spring. Mrs. Colwood could only supposethat these times of silence and eclipse were connected in some way withher father and her loss of him. But whenever they occurred, Mrs. Colwoodfound her own mind invincibly recalled to that name on the box ofpapers, which still haunted her, still brought with it a vague sense ofsomething painful and harrowing--a breath of desolation, in strangeharmony, it often seemed, with certain looks and moods of Diana. ButMrs. Colwood searched her memory in vain. And, indeed, after a littlewhile, some imperious instinct even forbade her the search--so rapid andstrong was the growth of sympathy with the young life which had calledher to its aid.

  * * * * *

  The day of the Marsham visit arrived--a January afternoon clear andfrosty. In the morning before they were to start, Diana seemed to beoften closeted with her maid, and once in passing Miss Mallory's opendoor, her companion could not help seeing a consultation going on, and asnowy white dress, with black ribbons, lying on the bed. HeretoforeDiana had only appeared in black, the strict black which Frenchdressmakers understand, for it was little more than a year since herfather's death. The thought of seeing her in white stirred Mrs.Colwood's expectations.

  Tallyn Hall was eight miles from Beechcote. The ladies were to drive,but in order to show Mrs. Colwood something of the country, Dianadecreed that they should walk up to the downs by a field path, meetingthe carriage which bore their luggage at a convenient point on themain road.

  The day was a day of beauty--the trees and grass lightly rimed, the airsparkling and translucent. Nature was held in the rest of winter; butbeneath the outward stillness, one caught as it were the strongheart-beat of the mighty mother. Diana climbed the steep down without apause, save when she turned round from time to time to help hercompanion. Her slight firm frame, the graceful decision of hermovements, the absence of all stress and effort showed a creatureaccustomed to exercise and open air; Mrs. Colwood, the frailAnglo-Indian to whom walking was a task, tried to rival her in vain; andDiana was soon full of apologies and remorse for having tempted her tothe climb.

  "Please!--please!"--the little lady panted, as they reached thetop--"wasn't this worth it?"

  For they stood in one of the famous wood and common lands of SouthernEngland--great beeches towering overhead--glades opening to right andleft--ferny paths over green turf-tracks, and avenues of immemorial age,the highways of a vanished life--old earth-works, overgrown--lanesdeep-sunk in the chalk where the pack-horses once made theirway--gnarled thorns, bent with years, yet still white-mantled in thespring: a wild, enchanted no-man's country, owned it seemed by rabbitsand birds, solitary, lovely, and barren--yet from its furthest edge, thehigh spectator, looking eastward, on a clear night, might see on thehorizon the dim flare of London.

  Diana's habitual joy broke out, as she stood gazing at the villagebelow, the walls and woods of Beechcote, the church, the plough-lands,and the far-western plain, drawn in pale grays and purples under thedeclining sun.

  "Isn't it heavenly!--the browns--the blues--the soberness, the delicacyof it all? Oh, so much better than any tiresome Mediterranean--anystupid Riviera!--Ah!" She stopped and turned, checked by a soundbehind her.

  Captain Roughsedge appeared, carrying his gun, his spaniel beside him.He greeted the ladies with what seemed to Mrs. Colwood a very
evidentstart of pleasure, and turned to walk with them.

  "You have been shooting?" said Diana.

  He admitted it.

  "That's what you enjoy?"

  He flushed.

  "More than anything in the world."

  But he looked at his questioner a little askance, as though uncertainhow she might take so gross a confession.

  Diana laughed, and hoped he got as much as he desired. Then he was notlike his father--who cared so much for books?

  "Oh, books!" He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, the fact is, I--I don'toften read if I can help it. But of course they make you do a lot ofit--with these beastly examinations. They've about spoiled the armywith them."

  "You wouldn't do it for pleasure?"

  "What--reading?" He shook his head decidedly. "Not while I could bedoing anything else."

  "Not history or poetry?"

  He looked at her again nervously. But the girl's face was gay, and heventured on the truth.

  "Well, no, I can't say I do. My father reads a deal of poetry aloud."

  "And it bores you?"

  "Well, I don't understand it," he said, slowly and candidly.

  "Don't you even read the papers?" asked Diana, wondering.

  He started.

  "Why, I should think I do!" he cried. "I should rather think I do!That's another thing altogether--that's not books."

  "Then perhaps you read the debate last night?" She looked at him with akindling eye.

  "Of course I did--every word of it! Do you know what those Radicalfellows are up to now? They'll never rest until we've lost theKhaibar--and then the Lord only knows what'll happen."

  Diana flew into discussion--quick breath, red cheeks! Mrs. Colwoodlooked on amazed.

  Presently both appealed to her, the Anglo-Indian. But she smiled andstammered--declining the challenge. Beside their eagerness, theirpassion, she felt herself tongue-tied. Captain Roughsedge had seen twoyears' service on the Northwest Frontier; Diana had ridden through theKhaibar with her father and a Lieutenant-Governor. In both the sense ofEngland's historic task as the guardian of a teeming India againstonslaught from the north, had sunk deep, not into brain merely. Figuresof living men, acts of heroism and endurance, the thought of Englishsoldiers ambushed in mountain defiles, or holding out against Afridihordes in lonely forts, dying and battling, not for themselves, but thatthe great mountain barrier might hold against the savagery of the north,and English honor and English power maintain themselves unscathed--thesehad mingled, in both, with the chivalry and the red blood of youth. Theeyes of both had seen; the hearts of both had felt.

  And now, in the English House of Commons, there were men who doubted andsneered about these things--who held an Afridi life dearer than anEnglish one--who cared nothing for the historic task, who would letIndia go to-morrow without a pang!

  Misguided recreants! But Mrs. Colwood, looking on, could only feel thathad they never played their impish part, the winter afternoon for thesetwo companions of hers would have been infinitely less agreeable.

  For certainly denunication and argument became Diana--all the more thatshe was no "female franzy" who must have all the best of the talk; shelistened--she evoked--she drew on, and drew out. Mrs. Colwood wassecretly sure that this very modest and ordinarily stupid young man hadnever talked so well before, that his mother would have been astonishedcould she have beheld him. What had come to the young women of thisgeneration! Their grandmothers cared for politics only so far as theyadvanced the fortunes of their lords--otherwise what was Hecuba to them,or they to Hecuba? But these women have minds for the impersonal. Dianawas not talking to make an effect on Captain Roughsedge--that was thestrange part of it. Hundreds of women can make politics serve theprimitive woman's game; the "come hither in the ee" can use that weaponas well as any other. But here was an intellectual, a patrioticpassion, veritable, genuine, not feigned.

  Well!--the spectator admitted it--unwillingly--so long as the debater,the orator, were still desirable, still lovely. She stole a glance atCaptain Roughsedge. Was he, too, so unconscious of sex, of opportunity?Ah! _that_ she doubted! The young man played his part stoutly; flungback the ball without a break; but there were glances, and movements andexpressions, which to this shrewd feminine eye appeared to betray whatno scrutiny could detect in Diana--a pleasure within a pleasure, andthoughts behind thoughts. At any rate, he prolonged the walk as long asit could be prolonged; he accompanied them to the very door of theircarriage, and would have delayed them there but that Diana looked at herwatch in dismay.

  "You'll hear plenty of that sort of stuff to-night!" he said, as hehelped them to their wraps. "'Perish India!' and all the rest of it. Allthey'll mind at Tallyn will be that the Afridis haven't killed a fewmore Britishers."

  Diana gave him a rather grave smile and bow as the carriage drove on.Mrs. Colwood wondered whether the Captain's last remark had somehowoffended her companion. But Miss Mallory made no reference to it.Instead, she began to give her companion some preliminary information asto the party they were likely to find at Tallyn.

  As Mrs. Colwood already knew, Mr. Oliver Marsham, member for the Westerndivision of Brookshire, was young and unmarried. He lived with hismother, Lady Lucy Marsham, the owner of Tallyn Hall; and his widowedsister, Mrs. Fotheringham, was also a constant inmate of the house.Mrs. Fotheringham was if possible more extreme in opinions than herbrother, frequented platforms, had quarrelled with all her Conservativerelations, including a family of stepsons, and supported Women'sSuffrage. It was evident that Diana was steeling herself to someendurance in this quarter. As to the other guests whom they mightexpect, Diana knew little. She had heard that Mr. Ferrier was to bethere--ex-Home Secretary, and now leader of the Opposition--and old LadyNiton. Diana retailed what gossip she knew of this rather famouspersonage, whom three-fourths of the world found insolent and the restwitty. "They say, anyway, that she can snub Mrs. Fotheringham," saidDiana, laughing.

  "You met them abroad?"

  "Only Mr. Marsham and Lady Lucy. Papa and I were walking over the hillsat Portofino. We fell in with him, and he asked us the way to SanFruttuoso. We were going there, so we showed him. Papa liked him, and hecame to see us afterwards--several times. Lady Lucy came once."

  "She is nice?"

  "Oh yes," said Diana, vaguely, "she is quite beautiful for her age. Younever saw such lovely hands. And so fastidious--so dainty! I rememberfeeling uncomfortable all the time, because I knew I had a tear in mydress, and my hair was untidy--and I was certain she noticed."

  "It's all rather alarming," said Mrs. Colwood, smiling.

  "No, no!"--Diana turned upon her eagerly. "They're very kind--very, verykind!"

  * * * * *

  The winter day was nearly gone when they reached their destination. Butthere was just light enough, as they stepped out of the carriage, toshow a large modern building, built of red brick, with many gables andbow-windows, and a generally restless effect. As they followed thebutler through the outer hall, a babel of voices made itself heard, andwhen he threw open the door into the inner hall, they found themselvesushered into a large party.

  There was a pleased exclamation from a tall fair man standing near thefire, who came forward at once to meet them.

  "So glad to see you! But we hoped for you earlier! Mother, here is MissMallory."

  Lady Lucy, a woman of sixty, still slender and stately, greeted themkindly, Mrs. Colwood was introduced, and room was made for thenew-comers in the circle round the tea-table, which was presided over bya lady with red hair and an eye-glass, who gave a hand to Diana, and abow, or more precisely a nod, to Mrs. Colwood.

  "I'm Oliver's sister--my name's Fotheringham. That's mycousin--Madeleine Varley. Madeleine, find me some cups! This is Mr.Ferrier--Mr. Ferrier, Miss Mallory.--expect you know Lady Niton.--SirJames Chide, Miss Mallory.--Perhaps that'll do to begin with!" said Mrs.Fotheringham, carelessly, glancing at a further group of people. "NowI'll give you some tea."

  Dian
a sat down, very shy, and a little flushed. Mr. Marsham hoveredabout her, inducing her to loosen her furs, bringing her tea, and askingquestions about her settlement at Beechcote. He showed also a markedcourtesy to Mrs. Colwood, and the little widow, susceptible to everybreath of kindness, formed the prompt opinion that he was both handsomeand agreeable.

  Oliver Marsham, indeed, was not a person to be overlooked. His heightwas about six foot three; and his long slender limbs and spare frame hadearned him, as a lad, among the men of his father's works, thedescription of "two yards o' pump-waater, straight oop an' down." But inhis thin lengthiness there was nothing awkward--rather a gracefulreadiness and vigor. And the head which surmounted this lightly builtbody gave to the whole personality the force and weight it mightotherwise have missed. The hair was very thick and very fair, thoughalready slightly grizzled. It lay in heavy curly masses across a broadhead, defining a strong brow above deeply set small eyes of a paleconspicuous blue. The nose, aquiline and large; the mouth large also,but thin-lipped and flexible; slight hollows in the cheeks, and a long,lantern jaw. The whole figure made an impression of ease, power, andself-confidence.

  "So you like your old house?" he said, presently, to Diana, sitting downbeside her, and dropping his voice a little.

  "It suits me perfectly."

  "I am certain the moat is rheumatic! But you will never admit it."

  "I would, if it were true," she said, smiling.

  "No!--you are much too romantic. You see, I remember our conversations."

  "Did I never admit the truth?"

  "You would never admit it _was_ the truth. And my difficulty was to findan arbiter between us."

  Diana's face changed a little. He perceived it instantly.

  "Your father was sometimes arbiter," he said, in a still lowertone--"but naturally he took your side. I shall always rejoice I hadthat chance of meeting him."

  Diana said nothing, but her dark eyes turned on him with a soft friendlylook. His own smiled in response, and he resumed:

  "I suppose you don't know many of these people here?"

  "Not any."

  "I'm sure you'll like Mr. Ferrier. He is our very old friend--almost myguardian. Of course--on politics--you won't agree!"

  "I didn't expect to agree with anybody here," said Diana, slyly.

  He laughed.

  "I might offer you Lady Niton--but I refrain. To-morrow I have reason tobelieve that two Tories are coming to dinner."

  "Which am I to admire?--your liberality, or their courage?"

  "I have matched them by two socialists. Which will you sit next?"

  "Oh, I am proof!" said Diana. "'Come one, come all.'"

  He looked at her smilingly.

  "Is it always the same? Are you still in love with all the dear oldabuses?"

  "And do you still hate everything that wasn't made last week?"

  "Oh no! We only hate what cheats or oppresses the people."

  "The people?" echoed Diana, with an involuntary lift of the eyebrows,and she looked round the immense hall, with its costly furniture, itsglaring electric lights, and the band of bad fresco which ran round itslower walls.

  Oliver Marsham reddened a little; then said:

  "I see my cousin Miss Drake. May I introduce her?--Alicia!"

  A young lady had entered, from a curtained archway dividing the hallfrom a passage beyond. She paused a moment examining the company. Thedark curtain behind her made an effective background for the brillianceof her hair, dress, and complexion, of which fact--such at least wasDiana's instant impression--she was most composedly aware. At least shelingered a few leisurely seconds, till everybody in the hall had had theopportunity of marking her entrance. Then beckoned by Oliver Marsham,she moved toward Diana.

  "How do you do? I suppose you've had a long drive? Don't you hatedriving?"

  And without waiting for an answer, she turned affectedly away, and tooka place at the tea-table where room had been made for her by two youngmen. Reaching out a white hand, she chose a cake, and began to nibble itslowly, her elbows resting on the table, the ruffles of white lacefalling back from her bare and rounded arms. Her look meanwhile, halfabsent, half audacious, seemed to wander round the persons near, asthough she saw them, without taking any real account of them.

  "What have you been doing, Alicia, all this time?" said Marsham, as hehanded her a cup of tea.

  "Dressing."

  An incredulous shout from the table.

  "Since lunch!"

  Miss Drake nodded. Lady Lucy put in an explanatory remark about a"dressmaker from town," but was not heard. The table was engaged inwatching the new-comer.

  "May we congratulate you on the result?" said Mr. Ferrier, putting uphis eye-glass.

  "If you like," said Miss Drake, indifferently, still gently munching ather cake. Then suddenly she smiled--a glittering infectious smile, towhich unconsciously all the faces near her responded. "I have beenreading the book you lent me!" she said, addressing Mr. Ferrier.

  "Well?"

  "I'm too stupid--I can't understand it."

  Mr. Ferrier laughed.

  "I'm afraid that excuse won't do, Miss Alicia. You must find another."

  She was silent a moment, finished her cake, then took some grapes, andbegan to play with them in the same conscious provocative way--till atlast she turned upon her immediate neighbor, a young barrister with abroad boyish face.

  "Well, I wonder whether _you'd_ mind?"

  "Mind what?"

  "If your father had done something shocking--forged--or murdered--ordone something of that kind--supposing, of course, he were dead."

  "Do you mean--if I suddenly found out?"

  She nodded assent.

  "Well!" he reflected; "it would be disagreeable!"

  "Yes--but would it make you give up all the things youlike?--golfing--and cards--and parties--and the girl you were engagedto--and take to slumming, and that kind of thing?"

  The slight inflection of the last words drew smiles. Mr. Ferrier heldup a finger.

  "Miss Alicia, I shall lend you no more books."

  "Why? Because I can't appreciate them?"

  Mr. Ferrier laughed.

  "I maintain that book is a book to melt the heart of a stone."

  "Well, I tried to cry," said the girl, putting another grape into hermouth, and quietly nodding at her interlocutor--"I did--honor bright.But--really--what does it matter what your father did?"

  "My _dear!_" said Lady Lucy, softly. Her singularly white and finelywrinkled face, framed in a delicate capote of old lace, looked coldly atthe speaker.

  "By-the-way," said Mr. Ferrier, "does not the question rather concernyou in this neighborhood? I hear young Brenner has just come to live atWest Hill. I don't now what sort of a youth he is, but if he's a decentfellow, I don't imagine anybody will boycott him on account of hisfather's misdoings."

  He referred to one of the worst financial scandals of the precedinggeneration. Lady Lucy made no answer, but any one closely observing hermight have noticed a sudden and sharp stiffening of the lips, which wasin truth her reply.

  "Oh, you can always ask a man like that to garden-parties!" said ashrill, distant voice. The group round the table turned. The remark wasmade by old Lady Niton, who sat enthroned in an arm-chair near the fire,sometimes knitting, and sometimes observing her neighbors with amalicious eye.

  "Anything's good enough, isn't it, for garden-parties?" said Mrs.Fotheringham, with a little sneer.

  Lady Niton's face kindled. "Let us be Radicals, my dear," she said,briskly, "but not hypocrites. Garden-parties are invaluable--for peopleyou can't ask into the house. By-the-way, wasn't it you, Oliver, whoscolded me last night, because I said somebody wasn't 'in Society'?"

  "You said it of a particular hero of mine," laughed Marsham. "Inaturally pitied Society."

  "What is Society? Where is it?" said Sir James Chide, contemptuously. "Isuppose Lady Palmerston knew."

  The famous lawyer sat a little apart from the rest. Diana,
who had onlycaught his name, and knew nothing else of him, looked with suddeninterest at the man's great brow and haughty look. Lady Niton shook herhead emphatically.

  "We know quite as well as she did. Society is just as strong and just asexclusive as it ever was. But it is clever enough now to hide the factfrom outsiders."

  "I am afraid we must agree that standards have been much relaxed," saidLady Lucy.

  "Not at all--not at all!" cried Lady Niton. "There were black sheepthen; and there are black sheep now."

  Lady Lucy held her own.

  "I am sure that people take less care in their invitations," she said,with soft obstinacy. "I have often heard my mother speak of society inher young days,--how the dear Queen's example purified it--and how muchless people bowed down to money then than now."

  "Ah, that was before the Americans and the Jews," said Sir James Chide.

  "People forget their responsibility," said Lady Lucy, turning to Diana,and speaking so as not to be heard by the whole table. "In old days itwas birth; but now--now when we are all democratic--it should be_character_.--Don't you agree with me?"

  "Other people's character?" asked Diana.

  "Oh, we mustn't be unkind, of course. But when a thing is notorious.Take this young Brenner. His father's frauds ruined hundreds of poorpeople. How can I receive him here, as if nothing had happened? It oughtnot to be forgotten. He himself ought to _wish_ to live quietly!"

  Diana gave a hesitating assent, adding: "But I'm sorry for Mr. Brenner!"

  Mr. Ferrier, as she spoke, leaned slightly across the tea-table asthough to listen to what she said. Lady Lucy moved away, and Mr.Ferrier, after spending a moment of quiet scrutiny on the young mistressof Beechcote, came to sit beside her.

  Mrs. Fotheringham threw herself back in her chair with a little yawn."Mamma is more difficult than the Almighty!" she said, in a loud asideto Sir James Chide. "One sin--or even somebody else's sin--and you aredone for."

  Sir James, who was a Catholic, and scrupulous in speech, pursed his lipsslightly, drummed on the table with his fingers, and finally rosewithout reply, and betook himself to the _Times_. Miss Drake meanwhilehad been carried off to play billiards at the farther end of the hall bythe young men of the party. It might have been noticed that, before shewent, she had spent a few minutes of close though masked observation ofher cousin Oliver's new friend. Also, that she tried to carry OliverMarsham with her, but unsuccessfully. He had returned to Diana'sneighborhood, and stood leaning over a chair beside her, listening toher conversation with Mr. Ferrier.

  His sister, Mrs. Fotheringham, was not content to listen. Diana'simpressions of the country-side, which presently caught her ear,evidently roused her pugnacity. She threw herself on all the girl'srose-colored appreciations with a scorn hardly disguised. All the"locals," according to her, were stupid or snobbish--bores, in fact, ofthe first water. And to Diana's discomfort and amazement, Oliver Marshamjoined in. He showed himself possessed of a sharper and more caustictongue than Diana had yet suspected. His sister's sallies only amusedhim, and sometimes he improved on them, with epithets or comments,shrewder than hers indeed, but quite as biting.

  "His neighbors and constituents!" thought Diana, in a youngastonishment. "The people who send him to Parliament!"

  Mr. Ferrier seemed to become aware of her surprise and disapproval, forhe once or twice threw in a satirical word or two, at the expense, notof the criticised, but of the critics. The well-known Leader of theOpposition was a stout man of middle height, with a round head and face,at first sight wholly undistinguished, an ample figure, and smooth,straight hair. But there was so much honesty and acuteness in the eyes,so much humor in the mouth, and so much kindness in the general aspect,that Diana felt herself at once attracted; and when the master of thehouse was summoned by his head gamekeeper to give directions for theshooting-party of the following day, and Mrs. Fotheringham had gone offto attend what seemed to be a vast correspondence, the politician andthe young girl fell into a conversation which soon became agreeable andeven absorbing to both. Mrs. Colwood, sitting on the other side of thehall, timidly discussing fancy work with the Miss Varleys, Lady Lucy'syoung nieces, saw that Diana was making a conquest; and it seemed toher, moreover, that Mr. Ferrier's scrutiny of his companion was somewhatmore attentive and more close than was quite explained by the merecasual encounter of a man of middle-age with a young and charming girl.Was he--like herself--aware that matters of moment might be here attheir beginning?

  Meanwhile, if Mr. Ferrier was making discoveries, so was Diana. A man,it appeared, could be not only one of the busiest and most powerfulpoliticians in England, but also a philosopher, and a reader, one whosesecret tastes were as unworldly and romantic as her own. Books, music,art--he could handle these subjects no less skilfully than otherspolitical or personal. And, throughout, his deference to a young andpretty woman was never at fault. Diana was encouraged to talk, and then,without a word of flattery, given to understand that her talk pleased.Under this stimulus, her soft dark beauty was soon glowing at its best;innocence, intelligence, and youth, spread as it were their tendrilsto the sun.

  Meanwhile, Sir James Chide, a few yards off, was apparently absorbedpartly in the _Times_, partly in the endeavor to make Lady Lucy's foxterrier go through its tricks.

  Once Mr. Ferrier drew Diana's attention to her neighbor.

  "You know him?"

  "I never saw him before."

  "You know who he is?"

  "Ought I?--I am so sorry!"

  "He is perhaps the greatest criminal advocate we have. And a verydistinguished politician too.--Whenever our party comes in, he will bein the Cabinet.--You must make him talk this evening."

  "I?" said Diana, laughing and blushing.

  "You can!" smiled Mr. Ferrier. "Witness how you have been making mechatter! But I think I read you right? You do not mind if onechatters?--if one gives you information?"

  "Mind!--How could I be anything but grateful? It puzzles me so--this--"she hesitated.

  "This English life?--especially the political life? Well!--let me beyour guide. I have been in it for a long while."

  Diana thanked him, and rose.

  "You want your room?" he asked her, kindly.--"Mrs. Fotheringham, Ithink, is in the drawing-room. Let me take you to her. But, first, lookat two or three of these pictures as you go."

  "These--pictures?" faltered Diana, looking round her, her tone changing.

  "Oh, not those horrible frescos! Those were perpetrated by Marsham'sfather. They represent, as you see, the different processes of the IronTrade. Old Henry Marsham liked them, because, as he said, they explainedhim, and the house. Oliver would like to whitewash them--but for filialpiety. People might suppose him ashamed of his origin. No, no!--I meanthose two or three old pictures at the end of the room. Come and look atthem--they are on our way."

  He led her to inspect them. They proved to be two Gainsboroughs and aRaeburn, representing ancestors on Lady Lucy's side. Mr. Ferrier's talkof them showed his intimate knowledge both of Varleys and Marshams, theknowledge rather of a kinsman than a friend. Diana perceived, indeed,how great must be the affection, the intimacy, between him and them.

  Meanwhile, as the man of fifty and the slender girl in black passedbefore him, on their way to examine the pictures, Sir James Chide,casually looking up, was apparently struck by some rapid and powerfulimpression. It arrested the hand playing with the dog; it held andtransformed the whole man. His eyes, open as though in astonishment orpain, followed every movement of Diana, scrutinized every look andgesture. His face had flushed slightly--his lips were parted. He had theaspect of one trying eagerly, passionately, to follow up some clew thatwould not unwind itself; and every now and then he bentforward--listening--trying to catch her voice.

  Presently the inspection was over. Diana turned and beckoned to Mrs.Colwood. The two ladies went toward the drawing-room, Mr. Ferriershowing the way.

  When he returned to the hall, Sir James Chide, its sole occupant, waswalking up an
d down.

  "Who was that young lady?" said Sir James, turning abruptly.

  "Isn't she charming? Her name is Mallory--and she has just settled atBeechcote, near here. That small fair lady was her companion. Olivertells me she is an orphan--well off--with no kith or kin. She has justcome to England, it seems, for the first time. Her father brought her upabroad away from everybody. She will have a success! But of all thelittle Jingoes!"

  Mr. Ferrier's face expressed an amused recollection of some of Diana'sspeeches.

  "Mallory?" said Sir James, under his breath--"_Mallory?_" He walked tothe window, and stood looking out, his hands in his pockets.

  Mr. Ferrier went up-stairs to write letters. In a few minutes the man atthe window came slowly back toward the fire, staring at the ground.

  "The look in the eyes!" he said to himself--"the mouth!--the voice!"

  He stood by the vast and pompous fireplace--hanging over the blaze--theprey of some profound agitation, some flooding onset of memory. Servantspassed and repassed through the hall; sounds loud and merry came fromthe drawing-room. Sir James neither saw nor heard.