a fixed her coal-black eyes on the lady.

"She looks sort of gentle now she's weading," whispered the little
girl to herself. "She looked howid this morning in the schoolroom, but
she looks sort of gentle now. I even seed her smile a minute back,
and I should not be a bit s'prised if she didn't hate Aunt Jane too. I
know what I'll do; I'll just go and ask her--there is nothing in all
the world like being plain-spoke. If Miss Wamsay hates Aunt Jane, why,
course, she'll help me to sharpen my arrow, when I tell her it is to
give Aunt Jane a little pwick."

Accordingly Diana approached Miss Ramsay's side, and, as the governess
did not look up, she flung herself on the grass near by, uttering a
deep sigh as she did so. But Miss Ramsay was intent on her book, and
did not take the least notice of Diana's deep-drawn breath. The little
girl fidgeted, and tried further measures. She came close up to the
governess, and, stretching out one of her fat hands, laid it on one of
Miss Ramsay's.

"Don't touch me, my dear," said the lady. "You are much too hot, and
your hand is very dirty."

"I's sossy for that," said Diana. "I had to touch you 'cos you
wouldn't look up. I has something most 'portant to talk over."

"Have you indeed?" replied Miss Ramsay. She closed her book. The part
she was reading was not specially interesting, and she could not help
being amused with such a very curious specimen of the genus child as
Diana Delaney.

"Well, little girl, and what is it?" she asked.

"I 'spects," said Diana, looking very solemnly into her face, "that
you and me, we has both got the same enemies."

"The same enemies! My dear child, what do you mean?" asked Miss
Ramsay.

"I 'spects I's wight," said Diana, tossing her black head. "I's not
often wrong. I wead your thoughts--I think that you has a desp'ate
hate, down deep in your heart, to Aunt Jane."

"Good gracious!" cried the governess, "what does the child mean? Why
should I hate Mrs. Dolman?"

"But why should not you?--that's the point," said Diana.

"Well, I don't," said Miss Ramsay.

Diana looked intently at her. Slowly, but surely, her big black eyes
filled with tears; the tears rolled down her cheeks; she did not
attempt to wipe them away.

"What is the matter with you, you queer little creature?" said Miss
Ramsay. "What in the world are you crying about?"

"I is so bitter dis'pointed," repeated Diana.

"What, because I don't hate your Aunt Jane?"

"I is bitter