You must come less often; even to
not at all, if you are one of those idols with feet of clay which
leave the print of their steps in a room; or fall and crush the silly
idolizer.'

'But surely you know...' said he. 'We can't have to wait long.' He
looked full of hopeful meanings.

'A reason...!' She kept down her breath. A longdrawn sigh followed,
through parted lips. She had a sensation of horror. 'And I cannot
propose to nurse him--Emma will not hear of it,' she said. 'I dare not.
Hypocrite to that extreme? Oh, no! But I must hear nothing. As it is,
I am haunted. Now let this pass. Tony me no Tonies; I am stony to such
whimpering business now we are in the van of the struggle. All round us
it sounds like war. Last night I had Mr. Tonans dining here;--he wished
to meet you; and you must have a private meeting with Mr. Whitmonby: he
will be useful; others as well. You are wrong in affecting contempt of
the Press. It perches you on a rock; but the swimmer in politics knows
what draws the tides. Your own people, your set, your class, are a drag
to you, like inherited superstitions to the wakening brain. The greater
the glory! For you see the lead you take? You are saving your class.
They should lead, and will, if they prove worthy in the crisis. Their
curious error is to believe in the stability of a monumental position.'

'Perfectly true!' cried Dacier; and the next minute, heated by
approbation, was begging for her hand earnestly. She refused it.

'But you say things that catch me!' he pleaded. 'Remember, it was nearly
mine. It soon will be mine. I heard yesterday from Lady Wathin... well,
if it pains you!'

'Speak on,' said Diana, resigned to her thirsty ears.

'He is not expected to last through the autumn.'

'The calculation is hers?'

'Not exactly:--judging from the symptoms.'

Diana flashed a fiery eye into Dacier's, and rose. She was past danger
of melting, with her imagination darkened by the funeral image; but she
craved solitude, and had to act the callous, to dismiss him.

'Good. Enough for the day. Now leave me, if you please. When we meet
again, stifle that raven's croak. I am not a "Sister of Charity," but
neither am I a vulture hovering for the horse in the desert to die. A
poor simile!--when it is my own and not another's breath that I want.
Nothing in nature, only gruesome German stories will fetch comparisons
for the yoke of this Law of yours. It seems the nightmare dream
following an ogre