But just as her pause of daily homage to the place in which she found herself was over, and she was about to run down the remaining stairs to the dining-room, a new thought delayed her for a moment by the staircase window—­the thought of a lady who would no doubt be waiting for her at the breakfast-table.

Mrs. Colwood, Miss Mallory’s new chaperon and companion, had arrived the night before, on Christmas Eve.  She had appeared just in time for dinner, and the two ladies had spent the evening together.  Diana’s first impressions had been pleasant—­yes, certainly, pleasant; though Mrs. Colwood had been shy, and Diana still more so.  There could be no question but that Mrs. Colwood was refined, intelligent, and attractive.  Her gentle, almost childish looks appealed for her.  So did her deep black, and the story which explained it.  Diana had heard of her from a friend in Rome, where Mrs. Colwood’s husband, a young Indian Civil servant, had died of fever and lung mischief, on his way to England for a long sick leave and where the little widow had touched the hearts of all who came in contact with her.

Diana thought, with one of her ready compunctions, that she had not been expansive enough the night before.  She ran down-stairs, determined to make Mrs. Colwood feel at home at once.

When she entered the dining-room the new companion was standing beside the window looking out upon the formal garden and the lawn beyond it.  Her attitude was a little drooping, and as she turned to greet her hostess and employer, Diana’s quick eyes seemed to perceive a trace of recent tears on the small face.  The girl was deeply touched, though she made no sign.  Poor little thing!  A widow, and childless, in a strange place.

Mrs. Colwood, however, showed no further melancholy.  She was full of admiration for the beauty of the frosty morning, the trees touched with rime, the browns and purples of the distant woods.  She spoke shyly, but winningly, of the comfort of her room, and the thoughtfulness with which Miss Mallory had arranged it; she could not say enough of the picturesqueness of the house.  Yet there was nothing fulsome in her praise.  She had the gift which makes the saying of sweet and flattering things appear the merest simplicity.  They escaped her whether she would or no—­that at least was the impression; and Diana found it agreeable.  So agreeable that before they had been ten minutes at table Miss Mallory, in response, was conscious on her own part of an unusually strong wish to please her new companion—­to make a good effect.  Diana, indeed, was naturally governed by the wish to please.  She desired above all things to be liked—­that is, if she could not be loved.  Mrs. Colwood brought with her a warm and favoring atmosphere.  Diana unfolded.

* * * * *

In the course of this first exploratory conversation, it appeared that the two ladies had many experiences in common.  Mrs. Colwood had been two years, her two short years of married life, in India; Diana had travelled there with her father.  Also, as a girl, Mrs. Colwood had spent a winter at Cannes, and another at Santa Margherita.  Diana expressed with vehemence her weariness of the Riviera; but the fact that Mrs. Colwood differed from her led to all the more conversation.