The Testing of Diana Mallory Read online

  CHAPTER IV

  The next day, when Diana looked out from her window, she saw a large anddreary park wrapped in scudding rain which promised evil things for theshooting-party of the day. Mr. Marsham senior had apparently laid outhis park and grounds on the same principles as those on which he hadbuilt his house. Everything was large and expensive. The woods andplantations were kept to a nicety; not a twig was out of place. Enormouscost had been incurred in the planting of rare evergreens; full-growntrees had been transplanted wholesale from a distance, and still wore inmany cases a sickly and invalided air; and elaborate contrasts in darkand light foliage had been arranged by the landscape-gardener employed.Dark plantations had a light border--light plantations a dark one. Alake or large pond, with concrete banks and two artificial islands, heldthe centre of the park, and on the monotonous stretches of immaculategrass there were deer to be seen wherever anybody could reasonablyexpect them.

  Diana surveyed it all with a lively dislike. She pitied Lady Lucy andMr. Marsham because they must live in such a place. Especially, surely,must it be hampering and disconcerting to a man, preaching thedemocratic gospel, and looking forward to the democratic millennium, tobe burdened with a house and estate which could offer so few excuses forthe wealth of which they made an arrogant and uninviting display.Immense possessions and lavish expenditure may be, as we all know, sosoftened by antiquity, or so masked by taste, as not to jar with idealsthe most different or remote. But here "proputty! proputty!" was the cryof every ugly wood and tasteless shrubbery, whereas the prospectiveowner of them, according to his public utterances and career, wasmagnificently careless of property--was, in fact, in the eyes of thelovers of property, its enemy. The house again spoke loudly andaggressively of money; yet it was the home of a champion of the poor.

  Well--a man cannot help it, if his father has suffered from stupidityand bad taste; and encumbrances of this kind are more easily createdthan got rid of. No doubt Oliver Marsham's democratic opinions had beenpartly bred in him by opposition and recoil. Diana seemed to get a gooddeal of rather comforting light on the problem by looking at it fromthis point of view.

  Indeed, she thought over it persistently while she dressed. From thenormal seven-hours' sleep of youth she had awakened with braced nerves.To remember her duel of the night before was no longer to thrill with anexcitement inexplicable even to herself, and strangely mingled with asense of loneliness or foreboding. Under the morning light she looked atthings more sanely. Her natural vanity, which was the reflection of herwish to please, told her that she had not done badly. She felt achildish pleasure in the memory of Mr. Barton's discomfiture; and as toMr. Marsham, it was she, and not her beliefs, not the great Imperial"cause" which had been beaten. How could she expect to hold her own withthe professional politician when it came really to business? In herheart of hearts she knew that she would have despised Oliver Marsham ifhe had not been able to best her in argument. "If it had been papa," shethought, proudly, "that would have been another story!"

  Nevertheless, as she sat meekly under the hands of her maid, smiles"went out and in," as she remembered the points where she had pressedhim hard, had almost overcome him. An inclination to measure herselfwith him again danced within her. Will against will, mind againstmind--her temperament, in its morning rally, delighted in the thought.And all the time there hovered before her the living man, with hisagreeable, energetic, challenging presence. How much better she hadliked him, even in his victory of the evening, than in the carpingsarcastic mood of the afternoon!

  In spite of gayety and expectation, however, she felt her courage failher a little as she left her room and ventured out into the big populoushouse. Her solitary bringing-up had made her liable to fits of shynessamid her general expansiveness, and it was a relief to meet noone--least of all, Alicia Drake--on her way down-stairs. Mrs. Colwood,indeed, was waiting for her at the end of the passage, and Diana heldher hand a little as they descended.

  A male voice was speaking in the hall--Mr. Marsham giving the lastdirections for the day to the head keeper. The voice was sharp andperemptory--too peremptory, one might have thought, for democracyaddressing a brother. But the keeper, a gray-haired, weather-beaten manof fifty, bowed himself out respectfully, and Marsham turned to greetDiana. Mrs. Colwood saw the kindling of his eyes as they fell on thegirl's morning freshness. No sharpness in the voice now!--he was alleagerness to escort and serve his guests.

  He led them to the breakfast-room, which seemed to be in an uproar,caused apparently by Bobbie Forbes and Lady Niton, who were talking ateach other across the table.

  "What is the matter?" asked Diana, as she slipped into a place to whichSir James Chide smilingly invited her--between himself and Mr. Bobbie.

  Sir James, making a pretence of shutting his ears against the din,replied that he believed Mr. Forbes was protesting against the tyrannyof Lady Niton in obliging him to go to church.

  "She never enters a place of worship herself, but she insists that heryoung men friends shall go.--Mr. Bobbie is putting his foot down!"

  "Miss Mallory, let me get you some fish," said Forbes, turning to herwith a flushed and determined countenance. "I have now vindicated therights of man, and am ready to attend--if you will allow me--to thewants of woman. Fish?--or bacon?"

  Diana made her choice, and the young man supplied her; then bristlingwith victory, and surrounded by samples of whatever food thebreakfast-table afforded, he sat down to his own meal. "No!" he said,with energy, addressing Diana. "One must really draw the line. The lastSunday Lady Niton took me to church, the service lasted an hour andthree-quarters. I am a High Churchman--I vow I am--an out-and-outer. Igo in for snippets--and shortening things. The man here is a dreadfulold Erastian--piles on everything you can pile on--so I just felt itnecessary to give Lady Niton notice. To-morrow I have work for thedepartment--_at home!_ Take my advice, Miss Mallory--don't go."

  "I'm not staying over Sunday," smiled Diana.

  The young man expressed his regret. "I say," he said, with a quick lookround, "you didn't think I was rude last night, did you?"

  "Rude? When?"

  "In not listening. I can't listen when people talk politics. I want todrown myself. Now, if it was poetry--or something reasonable. You knowthe only things worth looking at--in this beastly house"--he lowered hisvoice--"are the books in that glass bookcase. It was Lady Lucy'sfather--old Lord Merston--collected them. Lady Lucy never looks at them.Marsham does, I suppose--sometimes. Do you know Marsham well?"

  "I made acquaintance with him and Lady Lucy on the Riviera."

  Mr. Bobbie observed her with a shrewd eye. In spite of his inattentionof the night before, the interest of Miss Mallory's appearance upon thescene at Tallyn had not been lost upon him, any more than upon otherpeople. The rumor had preceded her arrival that Marsham had been verymuch "smitten" with her amid the pine woods of Portofino. Marsham'staste was good--emphatically good. At the same time it was clear thatthe lady was no mere facile and commonplace girl. It was Forbes'sopinion, based on the scene of the previous evening, that there might bea good deal of wooing to be done.

  * * * * *

  "There are so many things I wanted to show you--and to talk about!" saidOliver Marsham, confidentially, to Diana, in the hall afterbreakfast--"but this horrid shoot will take up all the day! If theweather is not too bad, I think some of the ladies meant to join us atluncheon. Will you venture?"

  His tone was earnest; his eyes indorsed it. Diana hoped it might bepossible to come. Marsham lingered beside her to the last minute; butpresently final orders had to be given to keepers, and country neighborsbegan to arrive.

  "They do the thing here on an enormous scale," said Bobbie Forbes,lounging and smoking beside Diana; "it's almost the biggest shoot in thecounty. Amusing, isn't it?--in this Radical house. Do you see thatman McEwart?"

  Diana turned her attention upon the young member of Parliament who hadarrived the night before--plain, sandy-haired, with a long flat-back
edhead, and a gentlemanly manner.

  "I suspect a good deal's going on here behind the scenes," said Bobbie,dropping his voice. "That man Barton may be a fool to talk, but he's agreat power in the House with the other Labor men. And McEwart has beenhand and glove with Marsham all this Session. They're trying to forceFerrier's hand. Some Bill the Labor men want--and Ferrier won't hear of.A good many people say we shall see Marsham at the head of a FourthParty of his own very soon, _Se soumettre, ou se demettre!_--well, itmay come to that--for old Ferrier. But I'll back him to fight hisway through."

  "How can Mr. Marsham oppose him?" asked Diana, in wonder, and someindignation with her companion. "He is the Leader of the party, andbesides--they are such friends!"

  Forbes looked rather amused at her womanish view of things. "Friends? Ishould rather think so!"

  By this time he and Diana were strolling up and down the winter gardenopening out of the hall, which was now full of a merry crowd waitingfor the departure of the shooters. Suddenly Forbes paused.

  "Do you see that?"

  Diana's eyes followed his till they perceived Lady Lucy sitting a littleway off under a camellia-tree covered with red blossom. Her lap washeaped with the letters of the morning. Mr. Ferrier, with a cigarette inhis mouth, stood beside her, reading the sheets of a letter which shehanded to him as she herself finished them. Every now and then she spoketo him, and he replied. In the little scene, between the slenderwhite-haired woman and the middle-aged man, there was something sointimate, so conjugal even, that Diana involuntarily turned away asthough to watch it were an impertinence.

  "Rather touching, isn't it?" said the youth, smiling benevolently. "Ofcourse you know--there's a romance, or rather _was_--long ago. My motherknew all about it. Since old Marsham's death, Lady Lucy's never done athing without Ferrier to advise her. Why she hasn't married him, that'sthe puzzle.--But she's a curious woman, is Lady Lucy. Looks so soft,but--" He pursed up his lips with an important air.

  "Anyhow, she depends a lot on Ferrier. He's constantly here whenever hecan be spared from London and Parliament. He got Oliver intoParliament--his first seat I mean--for Manchester. The Ferriers are verybig people up there, and old Ferrier's recommendation of him just puthim in straight--no trouble about it! Oh! and before that when he was atEton--and Oxford too--Ferrier looked after him like a father.--Used tohave him up for exeats--and talk to the Head--and keep his motherstraight--like an old brick. Ferrier's a splendid chap!"

  Diana warmly agreed.

  "Perhaps you know," pursued the chatterbox, "that this place is allhers--Lady Lucy's. She can leave it and her money exactly as shepleases. It is to be hoped she won't leave much of it to Mrs.Fotheringham. _Isn't_ that a woman! Ah! you don't know her yet.Hullo!--there's Marsham after me."

  For Marsham was beckoning from the hall. They returned hurriedly.

  "Who made Oliver that waistcoat?" said Lady Niton, putting on herspectacles.

  "I did," said Alicia Drake, as she came up, with her arm round theyounger of Lady Niton's nieces. "Isn't it becoming?"

  "Hum!" said Lady Niton, in a gruff tone, "young ladies can always findnew ways of wasting their time."

  Marsham approached Diana.

  "We're just off," he said, smiling. "The clouds are lifting. You'llcome?"

  "What, to lunch?" said Lady Niton, just behind. "Of course they will.What else is there for the women to do? Congratulate you on yourwaistcoat, Oliver."

  "Isn't it superb?" he said, drawing himself up with mock majesty, so asto show it off. "I am Alicia's debtor for life."

  Yet a careful ear might have detected something a little hollow in thetone.

  Lady Niton looked at him, and then at Miss Drake, evidently restrainingher sharp tongue for once, though with difficulty. Marsham lingered amoment making some last arrangements for the day with his sister. Diananoticed that he towered over the men among whom he stood; and she feltherself suddenly delighting in his height, in his voice which wasremarkably refined and agreeable, in his whole capable and masterfulpresence. Bobbie Forbes standing beside him was dwarfed toinsignificance, and he seemed to be conscious of it, for he rose on histoes a little, involuntarily copying Marsham's attitude, and lookingup at him.

  As the shooters departed, Forbes bringing up the rear, Lady Niton laidher wrinkled hand on his arm.

  "Never mind, Bobbie, never mind!"--she smiled at him confidentially. "Wecan't all be six foot."

  Bobbie stared at her--first fiercely--then exploded with laughter, shookoff her hand and departed.

  Lady Niton, evidently much pleased with herself, came back to the windowwhere most of the other ladies stood watching the shooters with theirline of beaters crossing the lawn toward the park beyond. "Ah!" shesaid, "I thought Alicia would see the last of them!"

  For Miss Drake, in defiance of wind and spitting rain, was walking overthe lawn the centre of a large group, with Marsham beside her. Her whiteserge dress and the blue shawl she had thrown over her fair head made abrilliant spot in the dark wavering line.

  "Alicia is very picturesque," said Mrs. Fotheringham, turning away.

  "Yes--and last summer Oliver seemed to be well aware of it," said LadyNiton, in her ear.

  "Was he? He has always been very good friends with Alicia."

  "He could have done without the waistcoat," said Lady Niton, sharply.

  "Aren't you rather unkind? She began it last summer, and finished ityesterday. Then, of course, she presented it to him. I don't see whythat should expose her to remarks."

  "One can't help making remarks about Alicia," said Lady Niton, calmly,"and she can defend herself so well."

  "Poor Alicia!"

  "Confess you wouldn't like Oliver to marry her."

  "Oliver never had any thought of it."

  Lady Niton shook her queer gray head.

  "Oliver paid her a good deal of attention last summer. Alicia mustcertainly have considered the matter. And she is a young lady noteasily baffled."

  "Baffled!" Mrs. Fotheringham laughed. "What can she do?"

  "Well, it's true that Oliver seems to have got another idea in his head.What do you think of that pretty child who came yesterday--theMallory girl?"

  Mrs. Fotheringham hesitated, then said, coldly:

  "I don't like discussing these things. Oliver has plenty of time beforehim."

  "If he is turning his thoughts in that quarter," persisted Lady Niton,"I give him my blessing. Well bred, handsome, and well off--what's yourobjection?"

  Mrs. Fotheringham laughed impatiently. "Really, Lady Niton, I made noobjection."

  "You don't like her!"

  "I have only known her twenty-four hours. How can I have formed anyopinion about her?"

  "No--you don't like her! I suppose you thought she talked stuff lastnight?"

  "Well, there can be no two opinions about that!" cried Mrs.Fotheringham. "Her father seems to have filled her head with all sortsof false Jingo notions, and I must say I wondered Oliver was so patientwith her."

  Lady Niton glanced at the thin fanatical face of the speaker.

  "Oliver had great difficulty in holding his own. She is no fool, andyou'll find it out, Isabel, if you try to argue her down--"

  "I shouldn't dream of arguing with such a child!"

  "Well, all I know is Ferrier seemed to admire her performance."

  Mrs. Fotheringham paused a moment, then said, with harsh intensity:

  "Men have not the same sense of responsibility."

  "You mean their brains are befogged by a pretty face?"

  "They don't put non-essentials aside, as we do. A girl like that, inlove with what she calls 'glory' and 'prestige,' is a dangerous anddemoralizing influence. That glorification of the Army is at the root ofhalf our crimes!"

  Mrs. Fotheringham's pale skin had flushed till it made one red with herred hair. Lady Niton looked at her with mingled amusement andirritation. She wondered why men married such women as IsabelFotheringham. Certainly Ned Fotheringham himself--deceased some threeyears be
fore this date--had paid heavily for his mistake; especiallythrough the endless disputes which had arisen between his children andhis second wife--partly on questions of religion, partly on this matterof the Army. Mrs. Fotheringham was an agnostic; her stepsons, thechildren of a devout mother, were churchmen. Influenced, moreover, by asmall coterie, in which, to the dismay of her elderly husband, she hadpassed most of her early married years, she detested the Army as abrutal influence on the national life. Her youngest step-son, however,had insisted on becoming a soldier. She broke with him, and with hisbrothers who supported him. Now a childless widow, without ties andmoderately rich, she was free to devote herself to her ideas. In formerdays she would have been a religious bigot of the first water; thebigotry was still there; only the subjects of it were changed.

  Lady Niton delighted in attacking her; yet was not without a certainrespect for her. Old sceptic that she was, ideals of any sort imposedupon her. How people came by them, she herself could never imagine.

  On this particular morning, however, Mrs. Fotheringham did not allowherself as long a wrangle as usual with her old adversary. She went off,carrying an armful of letters with large enclosures, and Lady Nitonunderstood that for the rest of the morning she would be as muchabsorbed by her correspondence--mostly on public questions--as theLeader of the Opposition himself, to whom the library was sacredlygiven up.

  "When that woman takes a dislike," she thought to herself, "it sticks!She has taken a dislike to the Mallory girl. Well, if Oliver wants her,let him fight for her. I hope she won't drop into his mouth! Mallory!Mallory! I wonder where she comes from, and who her people are."

  * * * * *

  Meanwhile Diana was sitting among her letters, which mainly concernedthe last details of the Beechcote furnishing. She and Mrs. Colwood werenow "Muriel" and "Diana" to each other, and Mrs. Colwood had beenadmitted to a practical share in Diana's small anxieties.

  Suddenly Diana, who had just opened a hitherto unread letter, exclaimed:

  "Oh, but _how_ delightful!"

  Mrs. Colwood looked up; Diana's aspect was one of sparkling pleasure andsurprise.

  "One of my Barbadoes' cousins is here--in London--actually inLondon--and I knew nothing of her coming. She writes to me.--Of courseshe must come to Beechcote--she must come at once!"

  She sprang up, and went to a writing-table near, to look for a telegraphform. She wrote a message with eagerness, despatched it, and thenexplained as coherently as her evident emotion and excitementwould allow.

  "They are my only relations in the world--that I know of--that papa everspoke to me about. Mamma's sister married Mr. Merton. He was a planterin Barbadoes. He died about three years ago, but his widow and daughtershave lived on there. They were very poor and couldn't afford to comehome. Fanny is the eldest--I think she must be about twenty."

  Diana paced up and down, with her hands behind her, wondering when hertelegram would reach her cousin, who was staying at a Londonboarding-house, when she might be expected at Beechcote, how long shecould be persuaded to stay--speculations, in fact, innumerable. Heragitation was pathetic in Mrs. Colwood's eyes. It testified to thegirl's secret sense of forlornness, to her natural hunger for the tiesand relationships other girls possessed in such abundance.

  Mrs. Colwood inquired if it was long since she had had news of hercousins.

  "Oh, some years!" said Diana, vaguely. "I remember a lettercoming--before we went to the East--and papa reading it. I know"--shehesitated--"I know he didn't like Mr. Merton."

  She stood still a moment, thinking. The lights and shadows of revivingmemory crossed her face, and presently her thought emerged, with verylittle hint to her companion of the course it had been taking outof sight.

  "Papa always thought it a horrid life for them--Aunt Merton and thegirls--especially after they gave up their estate and came to live inthe town. But how could they help it? They must have been very poor.Fanny"--she took up the letter--"Fanny says she has come home to learnmusic and French--that she may earn money by teaching when she goesback. She doesn't write very well, does she?"

  She held out the sheet.

  The handwriting, indeed, was remarkably illiterate, and Mrs. Colwoodcould only say that probably a girl of Miss Merton's circumstances hadhad few advantages.

  "But then, you see, we'll _give_ her advantages!" cried Diana, throwingherself down at Mrs. Colwood's feet, and beginning to plan aloud.--"Youknow if she will only stay with us, we can easily have people down fromLondon for lessons. And she can have the green bedroom--over thedining-room--can't she?--and the library to practise in. It would beabsurd that she should stay in London, at a horrid boarding-house, whenthere's Beechcote, wouldn't it?"

  Mrs. Colwood agreed that Beechcote would probably be quite convenientfor Miss Merton's plans. If she felt a little pang at the thought thather pleasant _tete-a-tete_ with her new charge was to be so sooninterrupted, and for an indefinite period, by a young lady with thehandwriting of a scullery-maid, she kept it entirely hidden.

  Diana talked herself into the most rose-colored plans for Fanny Merton'sbenefit--so voluminous, indeed, that Mrs. Colwood had to leave her inthe middle of them that she might go up-stairs and mend a rent in herwalking-dress. Diana was left alone in the drawing-room, still smilingand dreaming. In her impulsive generosity she saw herself as the earthlyprovidence of her cousin, sharing with a dear kinswoman her own unjustlyplentiful well-being.

  Then she took up the letter again. It ran thus:

  "My dear Diana,--You mustn't think it cheeky my calling you that, but I am your real cousin, and mother told me to write to you. I hope too you won't be ashamed of us though we are poor. Everybody knows us in Barbadoes, though of course that's not London. I am the eldest of the family, and I got very tired of living all in a pie, and so I've come home to England to better myself.--A year ago I was engaged to be married, but the young man behaved badly. A good riddance, all my friends told me--but it wasn't a pleasant experience. Anyway now I want to earn some money, and see the world a little. I have got rather a good voice, and I am considered handsome--at least smart-looking. If you are not too grand to invite me to your place, I should like to come and see you, but of course you must do as you please. I got your address from the bank Uncle Mallory used to send us checks on. I can tell you we have missed those checks pretty badly this last year. I hope you have now got over your great sorrow.--This boarding-house is horribly poky but cheap, which is the great thing. I arrived the night before last,

  "And I am Your affectionate cousin FANNY MERTON."

  No, it really was not an attractive letter. On the second reading, Dianapushed it away from her, rather hastily. Then she reminded herselfagain, elaborately, of the Mertons' disadvantages in life, painting themin imagination as black as possible. And before she had gone far withthis process all doubt and distaste were once more swept away by therush of yearning, of an interest she could not subdue, in this being ofher own flesh and blood, the child of her mother's sister. She sat withflushed cheeks, absorbed in a stream of thoughts and reminiscence.

  "You look as though you had had good news," said Sir James Chide, as hepaused beside her on his way through the drawing-room. He was not asportsman; nor was Mr. Ferrier.

  His eyes rested upon her with such a kind interest, his manner showed soplainly yet again that he desired to be her friend, that Dianaresponded at once.

  "I have found a cousin!" she said, gayly, and told the story of herexpected visitor.

  Outwardly--perfunctorily--Sir James's aspect while she was speakinganswered to hers. If she was pleased, he was pleased too. Hecongratulated her; he entered into her schemes for Miss Merton'samusement. Really, all the time, the man's aspect was singularly grave,he listened carefully to every word; he observed the speaker.

  "The young lady's mother is your aunt?"

  "She was my mother's sister."

  "A
nd they have been long in Barbadoes?"

  "I think they migrated there just about the same time we wentabroad--after my mother's death."

  Sir James said little. He encouraged her to talk on; he listened to thephrases of memory or expectation which revealed her history--hersolitary bringing-up--her reserved and scholarly father--the singularcloseness, and yet as it seemed strangeness of her relation to him. Itappeared, for instance, that it was only an accident, some years before,which had revealed to Diana the very existence of these cousins. Herfather had never spoken of them spontaneously.

  "I hope she will be everything that is charming and delightful," he saidat last as he rose. "And remember--I am to come and see you!"

  He stooped his gray head, and gently touched her hand with an old man'sfreedom.

  Diana warmly renewed her invitation.

  "There is a house near you that I often go to--Sir William Felton's. Iam to be there in a few weeks. Perhaps I shall even be able to makeacquaintance with Miss Fanny!"

  He walked away from her.

  Diana could not see the instant change of countenance which accompaniedthe movement. Urbanity, gentleness, kind indulgence vanished. Sir Jameslooked anxious and disturbed; and he seemed to be talking to himself.

  The rest of the morning passed heavily. Diana wrote some letters, anddevoutly hoped the rain would stop. In the intervals of herletter-writing, or her study of the clouds, she tried to make friendswith Miss Drake and Mrs. Fotheringham. But neither effort came to good.Alicia, so expansive, so theatrical, so much the centre of thesituation, when she chose, could be equally prickly, monosyllabic, andrepellent when it suited her to be so. Diana talked timidly of dress, ofLondon, and the Season. They were the subjects on which it seemed mostnatural to approach Miss Drake; Diana's attitude was inquiring andpropitiatory. But Alicia could find none but careless or scanty repliestill Madeleine Varley came up. Then Miss Drake's tongue was loosened. Toher, as to an equal and intimate, she displayed her expert knowledge ofshops and _modistes_, of "people" and their stories. Diana sat snubbedand silent, a little provincial outsider, for whom "seasons" are notmade. Nor was it any better with Mrs. Fotheringham. At twelve o'clockthat lady brought the London papers into the drawing-room. Furtherinformation had been received from the Afghan frontier. The English lossin the engagement already reported was greater than had been at firstsupposed; and Diana found the name of an officer she had known in Indiaamong the dead. As she pondered the telegram, the tears in her eyes, sheheard Mrs. Fotheringham describe the news as "on the whole verysatisfactory." The nation required the lesson. Whereupon Diana's tonguewas loosed and would not be quieted. She dwelt hotly on the "sniping,"the treacheries, the midnight murders which had preceded the expedition,Mrs. Fotheringham listened to her with flashing looks, and suddenly shebroke into a denunciation of war, the military spirit, and the ignorantand unscrupulous persons at home, especially women, who aid and abetpoliticians in violence and iniquity, the passion of which soon struckDiana dumb. Here was no honorable fight of equal minds. She was beingpunished for her advocacy of the night before, by an older woman oftyrannical temper, toward whom she stood in the relation of guest tohost. It was in vain to look round for defenders. The only man presentwas Mr. Barton, who sat listening with ill-concealed smiles to what wasgoing on, without taking part in it.

  Diana extricated herself with as much dignity as she could muster, butshe was too young to take the matter philosophically. She went up-stairsburning with anger, the tears of hurt feeling in her eyes. It seemed toher that Mrs. Fotheringham's attack implied a personal dislike; Mr.Marsham's sister had been glad to "take it out of her." To this youngcherished creature it was almost her first experience of the kind.

  On the way up-stairs she paused to look wistfully out of a staircasewindow. Still raining--alack! She thought with longing of the openfields, and the shooters. Was there to be no escape all day from theugly oppressive house, and some of its inmates? Half shyly, yet with aquickening of the heart, she remembered Marsham's farewell to her ofthat morning, his look of the night before. Intellectually, she wascomparatively mature; in other respects, as inexperienced andimpressionable as any convent girl.

  "I fear luncheon is impossible!" said Lady Lucy's voice.

  Diana looked up and saw her descending the stairs.

  "Such a pity! Oliver will be so disappointed."

  She paused beside her guest--an attractive and distinguished figure. Onher white hair she wore a lace cap which was tied very precisely underher delicate chin. Her dress, of black satin, was made in a full plainfashion of her own; she had long since ceased to allow her dressmakerany voice in it; and her still beautiful hands flashed with diamonds,not however in any vulgar profusion. Lady Lucy's mother had been of aQuaker family, and though Quakerism in her had been deeply alloyed withother metals, the moral and intellectual self-dependence of Quakerism,its fastidious reserves and discrimination were very strong in her.Discrimination indeed was the note of her being. For every Christian,some Christian precepts are obsolete. For Lady Lucy that whichruns--"Judge Not!"--had never been alive.

  Her emphatic reference to Marsham had brought the ready color to Diana'scheeks.

  "Yes--there seems no chance!--" she said, shyly, and regretfully, as therain beat on the window.

  "Oh, dear me, yes!" said a voice behind them. "The glass is going up.It'll be a fine afternoon--and we'll go and meet them at Holme Copse.Sha'n't we, Lady Lucy?"

  Mr. Ferrier appeared, coming up from the library laden with papers. Thethree stood chatting together on the broad gallery which ran round thehall. The kindness of the two elders was so marked that Diana's spiritsreturned; she was not to be quite a pariah it seemed! As she walked awaytoward her room, Mr. Ferrier's eyes pursued her--the slim round figure,the young loveliness of her head and neck.

  "Well!--what are you thinking about her?" he said, eagerly, turning tothe mistress of the house.

  Lady Lucy smiled.

  "I should prefer it if she didn't talk politics," she said, with theslightest possible stiffness, "But she seems a very charming girl."

  "She talks politics, my dear lady, because living alone with her fatherand with her books, she has had nothing else to talk about but politicsand books. Would you rather she talked scandal--or Monte Carlo?"

  The Quaker in Lady Lucy laughed.

  "Of course if she married Oliver, she would subordinate her opinions tohis."

  "Would she!" said Mr. Ferrier--"I'm not so sure!"

  Lady Lucy replied that if not, it would be calamitous. In which shespoke sincerely. For although now the ruler, and, if the truth wereknown, the somewhat despotic ruler of Tallyn, in her husband's lifetimeshe had known very well how to obey.

  "I have asked various people about the Mallorys," she resumed. "Butnobody seems to be able to tell me anything."

  "I trace her to Sir Thomas of that ilk. Why not? It is a Welsh name!"

  "I have no idea who her mother was," said Lady Lucy, musing. "Her fatherwas very refined--_quite_ a gentleman."

  "She bears, I think, very respectable witness to her mother," laughedFerrier. "Good stock on both sides; she carries it in her face."

  "That's all I ask," said Lady Lucy, quietly.

  "But that you _do_ ask!" Her companion looked at her with an eye halfaffectionate, half ironic. "Most exclusive of women! I sometimes wish Imight unveil your real opinions to the Radical fellows who come here."

  Lady Lucy colored faintly.

  "That has nothing to do with politics."

  "Hasn't it? I can't imagine anything that has more to do with them."

  "I was thinking of character--honorable tradition--not blood."

  Ferrier shook his head.

  "Won't do. Barton wouldn't pass you--'A man's a man for a' that'--and awoman too."

  "Then I am a Tory!" said Lady Lucy, with a smile that shot pleasantlythrough her gray eyes.

  "At last you confess it!" cried Ferrier, as he carried off his papers.But his gayety soon departed.
He stood awhile at the window in his room,looking out upon the sodden park--a rather gray and sombre figure. Overhis ugly impressiveness a veil of weariness had dropped. Politics andthe strife of parties, the devices of enemies and the dissatisfaction offriends--his soul was tired of them. And the emergence of this possiblelove-affair--for the moment, ardent and deep as were the man'saffections and sympathies, toward this Marsham household, it did butincrease his sense of moral fatigue. If the flutter in the blood--andthe long companionship of equal love--if these were the only things ofreal value in life--how had _his_ been worth living?