Beth resented the affectation of this prelude, and slightly frowned.  Diana was watching; she always watched.  “Why should you wish to call upon me?” was the frank demand.  “Do not think me rude, please; but I am scarcely in a position to become a desirable acquaintance of Miss Von Taer.”  The tone was a trifle bitter, and Diana noted it.  A subtile antagonism seemed springing up between them and the more experienced girl scented in this danger to her plans.  She must handle this young lady more cautiously than she had Louise Merrick.

“Your position is unimpeachable, my dear,” was the sweet-toned response.  “You are John Merrick’s niece.”

Beth was really angry now.  She scowled, and it spoiled her beauty.  Diana took warning and began to think quickly.

“I referred to my social position, Miss Von Taer.  Our family is honest enough, thank God; but it has never been accepted in what is termed select society.”

Diana laughed; a quiet, rippling laugh as icy as a brook in November, but as near gaiety as she could at the moment accomplish.  When she laughed this way her eyes nearly closed and became inscrutable.  Beth had a feeling of repulsion for her caller, but strove to shake it off.  Miss Von Taer was nothing to her; could be nothing to her.

“Your uncle is a very wealthy man,” said Diana, with easy composure.  “He has made you an heiress, placing you in a class much sought after in these mercenary days.  But aside from that, my dear, your personal accomplishments have not escaped notice, and gossip declares you to be a very fascinating young woman, as well as beautiful and good.  I do not imagine society claims to be of divine origin, but were it so no one is more qualified to grace it.”

The blandishments of this speech had less effect upon Beth than the evident desire to please.  She began to feel she had been ungracious, and straightway adopted a more cordial tone.

“I am sure you mean well, Miss Von Taer,” she hastened to say, “and I assure you I am not ungrateful.  But it occurred to me we could have nothing in common.”  “Oh, my dear!  You wrong us both.”

“Do you know my uncle?” enquired Beth.

“He is the friend of my father, Mr. Hedrik Von Taer.  Our family owes Mr. John Merrick much consideration.  Therefore I decided to seek pleasure in the acquaintance of his nieces.”

The words and tone seemed alike candid.  Beth began to relent.  She sat down for the first time, taking a chair opposite Diana.

“You see,” she said, artlessly, “I have no personal inclination for society, which is doubtless so large a part of your own amusement.  It seems to me artificial and insipid.”

“Those who view from a distance the husk of a cocoanut, have little idea of the milk within,” declared Diana, softly.

“True,” answered Beth.  “But I’ve cracked cocoanuts, and sometimes found the milk sour and tainted.”