abduction.
Bitterly, indeed, she reproached herself for her enmity toward the
unsuspecting girl, an innocent victim of Diana's own vain desires and
Charles Mershone's heartless wiles. Repenting her folly and reasoning
out the thing when it was too late, Diana saw clearly that she had
gained no possible advantage, but had thoughtlessly conspired to ruin
the reputation of an honest, ingenuous girl.

Not long ago she had said that her life was dull, a stupid round of
social functions that bored her dreadfully. She had hoped by adopting
John Merrick's nieces as her _protegees_ and introducing them to society
to find a novel and pleasurable excitement that would serve to take her
out of her unfortunate _ennui_--a condition to which she had practically
been born.

But Diana had never bargained for such excitement as this; she had never
thought to win self abhorrence by acts of petty malice and callous
cruelties. Yet so intrenched was she in the conservatism of her class
that she could not at once bring herself to the point of exposing her
own guilt that she might make amends for what had been done. She told
herself she would rather die than permit Louise to suffer through her
connivance with her reckless, unprincipled cousin. She realized
perfectly that she ought to fly, without a moment's delay, to the poor
girl's assistance. Yet fear of exposure, of ridicule, of loss of caste,
held her a helpless prisoner in her own home, where she paced the floor
and moaned and wrung her hands until she was on the verge of nervous
prostration. If at any time she seemed to acquire sufficient courage to
go to Louise, a glance at the detective watching the house unnerved her
and prevented her from carrying out her good intentions.

You must not believe that Diana was really bad; her lifelong training
along set lines and practical seclusion from the everyday world were
largely responsible for her evil impulses. Mischief is sure to crop up,
in one form or another, among the idle and ambitionless. More daring
wickedness is said to be accomplished by the wealthy and aimless
creatures of our false society than by the poorer and uneducated
classes, wherein criminals are supposed to thrive. These sins are often
unpublished, although not always undiscovered, but they are no more
venial because they are suppressed by wealth and power.

Diana Von Taer was a girl who, rightly led, might have been capable of
developing a noble womanhood; yet the co