“I shall try to forget your insults, sir,” she replied. “The door, Thomas!”

Mr. Bettison went out, and his step had lost some of its self-confident swagger.

For a full minute after the great front door had shut behind him, Diana stood where she was, and then the colour suddenly flamed in her cheeks, and she turned and ran out of the room, up the stairs, to her own chamber, where she indulged in a luxurious fit of crying. From this enjoyable occupation she was interrupted by a rap on the door, and Miss Betty’s voice desiring to know if she was within.

She instantly started up and with hasty fingers straightened her tumbled curls.

“Pray enter!” she called, trying to sound jaunty. To complete the illusion, she started to hum. Her aunt entered.