situation, when she chose, could be equally prickly, monosyllabic, and
repellent when it suited her to be so. Diana talked timidly of dress, of
London, and the Season. They were the subjects on which it seemed most
natural to approach Miss Drake; Diana's attitude was inquiring and
propitiatory. But Alicia could find none but careless or scanty replies
till Madeleine Varley came up. Then Miss Drake's tongue was loosened. To
her, as to an equal and intimate, she displayed her expert knowledge of
shops and _modistes_, of "people" and their stories. Diana sat snubbed
and silent, a little provincial outsider, for whom "seasons" are not
made. Nor was it any better with Mrs. Fotheringham. At twelve o'clock
that lady brought the London papers into the drawing-room. Further
information had been received from the Afghan frontier. The English loss
in the engagement already reported was greater than had been at first
supposed; and Diana found the name of an officer she had known in India
among the dead. As she pondered the telegram, the tears in her eyes, she
heard Mrs. Fotheringham describe the news as "on the whole very
satisfactory." The nation required the lesson. Whereupon Diana's tongue
was 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 she
broke into a denunciation of war, the military spirit, and the ignorant
and unscrupulous persons at home, especially women, who aid and abet
politicians in violence and iniquity, the passion of which soon struck
Diana dumb. Here was no honorable fight of equal minds. She was being
punished for her advocacy of the night before, by an older woman of
tyrannical temper, toward whom she stood in the relation of guest to
host. It was in vain to look round for defenders. The only man present
was Mr. Barton, who sat listening with ill-concealed smiles to what was
going on, without taking part in it.

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

On the way up-stairs she