Di and
Father had taken the house on the strength of that drawing-room, so well
designed for a wedding reception), the bride and bridegroom had not yet
stationed themselves to smile and be congratulated, although guests had
begun to arrive. Father, however, was there, at his best and reassuring
everybody. Diana had been a "little upset by the fright, don't you know,
and Vandyke was looking after her"; but it was nothing--nothing at all.
She would be down presently.

"What is it, Father? What did happen?" I found a chance to whisper; but
to my surprise he gave me for answer only a frown which seemed
inexplicably to say, "Whatever it is, _you'd_ better not ask! Don't
pretend innocence, it doesn't suit you."

"Do find out something from somebody," I said hastily to Tony, and ran
upstairs in search of Kitty Main, who, having deserted us to return home
with Father, was nevertheless not to be found in the drawing-room. She
was sure to know everything, I thought, and delighted to talk. But the
first person I met was Sidney Vandyke in the act of closing Diana's door
and coming out into the hall. Seeing me, a set and gloomy expression,
most unsuitable to a bridegroom, changed to a look of actual fury. If I
had been a small tame dog which had unexpectedly sprung up to bite him,
he could not have glared more venomously.

Since he had come to London we had met almost every day, and when
necessary I had been as dully polite as a book on etiquette. But only
when necessary. At other times I had effaced myself; now, though I was
keen for news of Di, I didn't care to get it from him, especially after
that look. Never since the episode of the photograph in camp at El Paso
had I of my own free will begun a conversation with Major Vandyke, and
it was now my intention to wait until he was out of the way before going
to Kitty or Diana. But when I would quietly have slid past the
bridegroom in the corridor, he stopped me.

"You've always been the enemy," he said in a tone of repressed rage,
subdued to reach my ears only, "but I did think you fought fair. I
didn't expect you to hit me in the back--and strike your sister, too, on
her wedding day. You're a cruel and cowardly little enemy, after all.
And let me tell you this: neither of us will forgive you as long as we
live."

I stared at him in amazement. "I don't know what you mean!"

"I shouldn't lie on top of the rest, if I were you," he sneered. "I
forbid you to go to Di. She's borne