is
rotten? However" (she smiled again, and caressed Diana's hand), "will
you make friends with me?"

"Is it worth while for you?" said Diana, laughing. "I shall always
prefer my picture-book to yours, I am afraid. And--I am not poor--and I
don't give all my money away."

Miss Vincent surveyed her gayly.

"Well, I come here," (she looked significantly round the luxurious
room), "and I am very good friends with the Marshams. Oliver Marsham is
one of the persons from whom I hope most."

"Not in pulling down wealth--and property!" cried Diana.

"Why not? Every revolution has its Philippe Egalite Oh, it will come
slowly--it will come slowly," said the other, quietly. "And of course
there will be tragedy--there always is--in everything. But not, I hope,
for you--never for you!" And once more her hand dropped softly
on Diana's.

"You were happy to-night?--you enjoyed the dance?"

The question, so put, with such a look, from another mouth, would have
been an impertinence. Diana shrank, but could not resent it. Yet,
against her will, she flushed deeply.

"Yes. It was delightful. I did not expect to enjoy it so much, but--"

"But you did! That's well. That's good!"

Marion Vincent rose feebly. And as she stood, leaning on the chair, she
touched the folds of Diana's white dress.

"When shall I see you again?--and that dress?"

"I shall be in London in May," said Diana, eagerly--May I come then? You
must tell me where."

"Ah, you won't come to Bethnal Green in that dress. What a pity!"

Diana helped her to her room, where they shook hands and parted. Then
Diana came back to her own quarters. She had put out the electric light
for Miss Vincent's sake. The room was lit only by the fire. In the
full-length mirror of the toilet-table Diana saw her own white
reflection, and the ivy leaves in her hair. The absence of her mourning
was first a pain; then the joy of the evening surged up again. Oh, was
it wrong, was it wrong to be happy--in this world "where men sit and
hear each other groan"? She clasped her hands to her soft breast, as
though defending the warmth, the hope that were springing there, against
any dark protesting force that might threaten to take them from her.

CHAPTER VI

"Henry," said Mrs. Roughsedge to her husband, "I think it would do you
good to walk to Beechcote."

"No, my dear, no! I have many proofs to get through before dinner. Take
Hugh. Only--"

Dr. Roughsedge, smiling, held up a