Yet the girl is essentially feminine.  If you refrain from meeting that discomfiting gaze—­and her familiars have learned to avoid it—­Diana impresses you as being graceful, dainty and possessed of charming manners.  Her taste in dress is perfect.  She converses fluently on many topics.  It is her custom to rise at ten o’clock, whatever time she may have retired the night before; to read until luncheon; to devote the remainder of her day to the requirements of society.

Eligible young men of admitted social standing call upon Diana at such intervals as the proprieties require.  They chatter “small talk” and are careful to address her with deference.  With an exception to be referred to later these young men have no more thought of “flirting” with Miss Von Taer than they would with the statue of the goddess, her namesake.  Her dinner parties and entertainments are very successful.  She is greatly admired, per se, but has no intimate friends.

When her mother died, some years before, an aunt had come to live with Diana, and now posed as her chaperon.  Mrs. Cameron was a stolid, corpulent lady, with a countenance perpetually placid and an habitual aversion to displaying intellect.  Her presence in the establishment, although necessary, was frankly ignored.  Fortunately she never obtruded herself.

Hedrik Von Taer was passionately devoted to his daughter.  He alone, perhaps, of all the world, thoroughly understood her and appreciated her talents.  She may have frightened him at times, but that only added to his admiration.  In return Diana displayed a calm, but affectionate regard for her father.

Often after dinner these two would pass an hour together in a corner of the drawing-room, where the cold gray eyes of the man met the intent, half-veiled glance of the girl with perfect understanding.  They talked of many things, including business.  Hedrik had no secrets from his daughter.  The desperate condition of his finances, when he had been caught in a “corner” on wheat and nearly crushed, had not dismayed her in the least.  It was she who had counseled him to appeal to John Merrick, since the name and fame of the eccentric millionaire were familiar to her as to him.

He related to Diana his interview with Mr. Merrick on his return home.  He was saved.  The three hundred thousand were now in the bank to his credit and he could weather the coming storm easily—­perhaps with profit.  In a tone half amused, half serious, he told her of the little millionaire’s desire to secure entree into good society for his three nieces.

Diana laughed with her lips; her eyes never laughed.  Then she took in her hand the paper containing the addresses of the three girls and regarded it thoughtfully.

“It is a curious request, mon pere,” she said, in her soft, even tones; “but one we cannot diplomatically disregard.  Provided, however—­”

“Yes, Diana;” as she paused.