st her, a faint flush crept to her cheeks.

"Richard did well," said she. "I am proud of him."

The words pleased Sir Rowland vastly; but he reckoned without Diana.
Miss Horton's mind was illumined by her knowledge of herself. In the
light of that she saw precisely what capital this tale-bearer sought to
make. The occasion might not be without its opportunities for her; and
to begin with, it was no part of her intention that Wilding should be
thus maligned and finally driven from the lists of rivalry with Blake.
Upon Wilding, indeed, and his notorious masterfulness did she found what
hopes she still entertained of winning back Sir Rowland.

"Surely," said she, "you are a little hard on Mr. Wilding. You speak as
if he were the first gallant that ever toasted lady's eyes."

"I am no lady of his, Diana," Ruth reminded her, with a faint show of
heat.

Diana shrugged her shoulders. "You may not love him, but you can't
ordain that he shall not love you. You are very harsh, I think. To me it
rather seems that Richard acted like a boor."

"But, mistress," cried Sir Rowland, half out of countenance, and
stifling his vexation, "in these matters it all depends upon the
manner."

"Why, yes," she agreed; "and whatever Mr. Wilding's manner, if I know
him at all, it would be nothing but respectful to the last degree."

"My own conception of respect," said he, "is not to bandy a lady's name
about a company of revellers."

"Bethink you, though, you said just now, it all depended on the manner,"
she rejoined. Sir Rowland shrugged and turned half from her to her
listening cousin. When all is said, poor Diana appears--despite her
cunning--to have been short-sighted. Aiming at a defined advantage
in the game she played, she either ignored or held too lightly the
concomitant disadvantage of vexing Blake.

"It were perhaps best to tell us the exact words he used, Sir Rowland,"
she suggested, "that for ourselves we may judge how far he lacked
respect."

"What signify the words!" cried Blake, now almost out of temper.
"I don't recall them. It is the air with which he pledged Mistress
Westmacott."

"Ah yes--the manner," quoth Diana irritatingly. "We'll let that be.
Richard threw his wine in Mr. Wilding's face? What followed then? What
said Mr. Wilding?"

Sir Rowland remembered what Mr. Wilding had said, and bethought him
that it were impolitic in him to repeat it. At the same time, not having
looked for this cross-questioning, h