And now she came, with this wistful face, to Lady Lucy.  She stood between that lady and Marsham, in her own garden, without, as it seemed to Sir James, a thought of herself.  As for him, in the midst of his own sharp grief, he could not help looking covertly from one to the other, remembering that February scene in Lady Lucy’s drawing-room.  And presently he was sure that Lady Lucy too remembered it.  Diana timidly begged that she would take some food—­some milk or wine—­before her drive home.  It was three hours—­incredible as it seemed—­since she had called to them in the road.  Lady Lucy, looking at her, and evidently but half conscious—­at first—­of what was said, suddenly colored, and refused—­courteously but decidedly.

“Thank you.  I want nothing.  I shall soon be home.  Oliver!”

“I go to Lytchett with Sir James, mother.  Miss Mallory begs that you will let Mrs. Colwood take you home.”

“It is very kind, but I prefer to go alone.  Is my carriage there?”

She spoke like the stately shadow of her normal self.  The carriage was waiting.  Lady Lucy approached Sir James, who was standing apart, and murmured something in his ear, to the effect that she would come to Lytchett that evening, and would bring flowers.  “Let mine be the first,” she said, inaudibly to the rest.  Sir James assented.  Such observances, he supposed, count for a great deal with women; especially with those who are conscious of having trifled a little with the weightier matters of the law.

Then Lady Lucy took her leave; Marsham saw her to her carriage.  The two left behind watched the receding figures—­the mother, bent and tottering, clinging to her son.

“She is terribly shaken,” said Sir James; “but she will never give way.”

Diana did not reply, and as he glanced at her, he saw that she was struggling for self-control, her eyes on the ground.

“And that woman might have had her for daughter!” he said to himself, divining in her the rebuff of some deep and tender instinct.

Marsham came back.

“The ambulance is just arriving.”

Sir James nodded, and turned toward the house.  Marsham detained him, dropping his voice.

“Let me go with him, and you take my fly.”

Sir James frowned.

“That is all settled,” he said, peremptorily.  Then he looked at Diana.  “I will see to everything in-doors.  Will you take Miss Mallory into the garden?”

Diana submitted; though, for the first time, her face reddened faintly.  She understood that Sir James wished her to be out of sight and hearing while they moved the dead.