“Jack Murthly worn’t their father!” A fresh shower of nods.  “Yo may take it at that!”

“Well, then, who—?”

Betty bent hastily forward—­Diana had placed herself on a stool before her—­and, thrusting out her wrinkled lips, said, in a hoarse whisper: 

“Two fathers!”

There was a silence.

“I don’t understand, Betty,” said Diana, softly.

“Jack was ’is father, all right—­Tom’s in South Africa.  But he worn’t their father, Mrs. Jack bein’ a widder—­or said so.  They’re only ’alves—­and ’alves ain’t no good in law; so inter Chancery those ’ouses ’ll go, come a twelvemonth—­yo may take it at that!” Diana laughed—­a young spontaneous laugh—­the first since she had come home.  She kept Betty gossiping for half an hour, and as the stream of the village life poured about her, in Betty’s racy speech, it was as though some primitive virtue entered into her and cheered her—­some bracing voice from the Earth-spirit—­whose purpose is not missed

     “If birth proceeds—­if things subsist.”

She rose at last, held Betty’s hand tenderly, and went her way, conscious of a return of natural pleasure, such as Italy had never brought her, her heart opening afresh to England and the English life.

Perhaps she would find at home a letter from Mr. Ferrier—­her dear, famous friend, who never forgot her, ignorant as she was of the great affairs in which he was plunged.  But she meant to be ignorant no longer.  No more brooding and dreaming!  It was pleasant to remember that Sir James Chide had taken a furnished house—­Lytchett Manor—­only a few miles from Beechcote, and that Mr. Ferrier was to be his guest there as soon as politics allowed.  For her, Diana, that was well, for if he were at Tallyn they could have met but seldom if at all.

She had made a round through a distant and sequestered lane in order to prolong her walk.  Presently she came to a deep cutting in the chalk, where the road, embowered in wild roses and clematis, turned sharply at the foot of a hill.  As she approached the turn she heard sounds—­a man’s voice.  Her heart suddenly failed her.  She looked to either side—­no gate, no escape.  Nothing for it but to go forward.  She turned the corner.

Before her was a low pony carriage which Alicia Drake was driving.  It was drawn up by the side of the road, and Alicia sat in it, laughing and talking, while Oliver Marsham gathered a bunch of wild roses from the road-side.  As Diana appeared, and before either of them saw her, Marsham returned to the carriage, his hands full of flowers.

“Will that content you?  I have torn myself to ribbons for you!”

“Oh, don’t expect too much gratitude—­Oliver!” The last word was low and hurried.  Alicia gathered up the reins hastily, and Marsham looked round him—­startled.

He saw a tall and slender girl coming toward them, accompanied by a Scotch collie.  She bowed to him and to Alicia, and passed quickly on.