From the
normal 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 an
excitement inexplicable even to herself, and strangely mingled with a
sense of loneliness or foreboding. Under the morning light she looked at
things more sanely. Her natural vanity, which was the reflection of her
wish to please, told her that she had not done badly. She felt a
childish pleasure in the memory of Mr. Barton's discomfiture; and as to
Mr. 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 with
the professional politician when it came really to business? In her
heart of hearts she knew that she would have despised Oliver Marsham if
he had not been able to best her in argument. "If it had been papa," she
thought, 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 pressed
him hard, had almost overcome him. An inclination to measure herself
with him again danced within her. Will against will, mind against
mind--her temperament, in its morning rally, delighted in the thought.
And all the time there hovered before her the living man, with his
agreeable, energetic, challenging presence. How much better she had
liked him, even in his victory of the evening, than in the carping
sarcastic mood of the afternoon!

In spite of gayety and expectation, however, she felt her courage fail
her a little as she left her room and ventured out into the big populous
house. Her solitary bringing-up had made her liable to fits of shyness
amid her general expansiveness, and it was a relief to meet no
one--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 held
her hand a little as they descended.

A male voice was speaking in the hall--Mr. Marsham giving the last
directions for the day to the head keeper. The voice was sharp and
peremptory--too peremptory, one might have thought, for democracy
addressing a brother. But the keeper, a gray-haired, weather-beaten man
of fifty, bowed himself out respectfully, and Marsham turned to greet
Diana. Mrs. Colwood saw the kindling of his eyes as they fell on the
girl's morning freshness. No sharpness in the voice now!--he was all
eagerness to escort and