es. There were several reasons for this
unfortunate plunge into an indigo atmosphere. First, the inevitable
reaction after the over-excitement of breaking up, sending off presents
and cards, and duly celebrating the Yule-tide feast. Diana was a
highly-strung little person, whose nerves were apt to get on edge, and
who made the common mistake of trying to live too fast. Her father's
"lightning methods", which she much admired and imitated, were decidedly
wearing to her vitality, and left her sometimes like a squeezed orange
or an india-rubber ball that has lost its bounce. Then secondly, the
French mails had been delayed, and, since the holidays began, Diana had
not received a single parcel, letter, or even solitary picture post card
from her parents in Paris. The blank was great, and though the Flemings
assured her that foreign posts were irregular, and that the whole of
her correspondence would probably arrive together in one big cargo, she
nevertheless could not rid herself of the uneasy impression that illness
or accident to father or mother might be the cause of the delay. Reason
three, a hackneyed but very present trouble was the weather. The English
climate had behaved itself during the first days of the holidays, and
had shown Diana quite a story-book aspect of Christmas, with a light
fall of snow on the fells, hoar-frost on all the plants and ferns in the
garden, and the sun a red ball seen through a rime-tipped tracery of
trees. After that, however, it revenged itself in rain, steady rain that
came down from a hopelessly grey sky without the least glint of sunlight
in it. It was very mild too; the air had a heavy languor that made
everybody feel tired and disinclined for any exertion. Mrs. Fleming
spread the table with sewing, and sighed at the largeness of the task
which faced her. The Vicar shut himself in his study, and pinned a
notice on the door stating that nobody must disturb him. Monty retired
to develop photos; Neale, clad in a mackintosh, went out into the wet;
Meg and Elsie buried themselves in books.

Diana, feeling that life was utterly drab, wandered from room to room
doing nothing. She could not settle to sew, read, paint, write letters,
or any normal employment, and had not even the patience to try to put
together a jig-saw puzzle. She missed Wendy and her other chums amongst
the intermediates, and was almost tempted to wish herself back at
school. Her piquant little face with this new _triste_ a