eived the
finer shades.

"Well, I'm not going to say!" said Fanny, with vehemence. "But I can
tell you, mother _has_ a claim!--and Uncle Mallory _ought_ to have left
us something!"

The instant the words were out she regretted them. Diana abandoned her
childish attitude. She drew herself together, and sat upright on the
edge of the sofa. The color had come flooding back hotly into her
cheeks, and the slightly frowning look produced by the effort to see the
face before her distinctly gave a peculiar intensity to the eyes.

"Fanny, please!--you must tell me why!"

The tone, resolute, yet appealing, put Fanny in an evident
embarrassment.

"Well, I can't," she said, after a moment--"so it's no good asking me."
Then suddenly, she hesitated--"or--at least--"

"At least what? Please go on."

Fanny wriggled again, then said, with a burst:

"Well, my mother was Aunt Sparling's younger sister--you know
that--don't you?--"

"Of course."

"And our grandfather died a year before Aunt Sparling. She was mother's
trustee. Oh, the money's all right--the trust money, I mean," said the
girl, hastily. "But it was a lot of other things--that mother says
grandpapa always meant to divide between her and Aunt Sparling--and she
never had them--nor a farthing out of them!"

"What other things? I don't understand."

"Jewels!--there!--jewels--and a lot of plate. Mother says she had a
right to half the things that belonged to her mother. Grandpapa always
told her she should have them. And there wasn't a word about them in
the will."

"_I_ haven't any diamonds," said Diana, quietly, "or any jewels at all,
except a string of pearls papa gave me when I was nineteen, and two or
three little things we bought in Florence."

Fanny Merton grew still redder; she stared aggressively at her cousin:

"Well--that was because--Aunt Sparling sold all the things!"

Diana started and recoiled.

"You mean," she said--her breath fluttering--"that--mamma sold things
she had no right to--and never gave Aunt Bertha the money!"

The restrained passion of her look had an odd effect upon her companion.
Fanny first wavered under it, then laughed--a laugh that was partly
perplexity, partly something else, indecipherable.

"Well, as I wasn't born then, I don't know. You needn't be cross with
me, Diana; I didn't mean to say any harm of anybody. But--mother
says"--she laid an obstinate stress on each word--"that she remembers
quite well--grandpapa mean