_was_ that
force, and Diane knew that she had submitted to its domination. From
weeks of tortuous self-examination she emerged into this knowledge, as
one comes out of a labyrinthine cavern into sunshine. Even here in the
open, however, was a problem still to solve. Could she marry the man who
had never told her that he loved her, even though she herself loved him?
Had she the power to give herself without stint, while asking of him
only what he chose to offer her? Would she, who had made men serve her,
with little more than smiles for their reward, be content to serve in
her own turn, getting nothing but a half-loaf for her heart's
sustenance? She asked herself these questions, but put off answering
them--waiting for him to force decision on her.

So the rest of the winter passed, and by the time Derek came back the
hyacinths were fading from the gardens and parks, and the tulips were
coming into bloom. To both Diane and Dorothea spring was bringing a new
motive for looking forward together with a new comprehension of the
human heart's capacity for joy.

Perhaps no day of their patient waiting was so long in passing as that
on which it was announced to them that Derek Pruyn had landed that
afternoon. He had sent word that he could not come home at once, as
business required his immediate presence at the office. Having already
exhausted their ingenuity in adorning the house, and putting everything
he could possibly want in the place where he could most easily find it,
there was nothing to do but to sit through the long hours in an
impatience which even Diane found it difficult to disguise. The visits
of the postman were welcomed as affording the additional task of
arranging Derek's letters on the desk in the small, book-lined room
specially devoted to his use; and when, in the evening, a cablegram
arrived, Diane herself propped it in a conspicuous place, with a tiny
silver dagger, for opening the envelope, beside it. The act, with its
suggestion of intimate life, gave her a stealthy pleasure; and when
Dorothea glided in and caught her sitting in Derek's own chair at the
desk, she blushed like a school-girl detected in a crime. It was perhaps
this acknowledgment of weakness that enabled Dorothea to speak out, and
say what had been for some time on her mind.

"Diane," she asked, dropping among the cushions of a divan, "are you
going to marry father?"

[Illustration: DRAWN BY FRANK
CRAIG DIANE PROPPED THE CABLEGRAM I