Mrs. Colwood agreed that Beechcote would probably be quite convenient for Miss Merton’s plans.  If she felt a little pang at the thought that her pleasant tete-a-tete with her new charge was to be so soon interrupted, and for an indefinite period, by a young lady with the handwriting of a scullery-maid, she kept it entirely hidden.

Diana talked herself into the most rose-colored plans for Fanny Merton’s benefit—­so voluminous, indeed, that Mrs. Colwood had to leave her in the middle of them that she might go up-stairs and mend a rent in her walking-dress.  Diana was left alone in the drawing-room, still smiling and dreaming.  In her impulsive generosity she saw herself as the earthly providence of her cousin, sharing with a dear kinswoman her own unjustly plentiful well-being.

Then she took up the letter again.  It ran thus: 

“My dear Diana,—­You mustn’t think it cheeky my calling you that, but I am your real cousin, and mother told me to write to you.  I hope too you won’t be ashamed of us though we are poor.  Everybody knows us in Barbadoes, though of course that’s not London.  I am the eldest of the family, and I got very tired of living all in a pie, and so I’ve come home to England to better myself.—­A year ago I was engaged to be married, but the young man behaved badly.  A good riddance, all my friends told me—­but it wasn’t a pleasant experience.  Anyway now I want to earn some money, and see the world a little.  I have got rather a good voice, and I am considered handsome—­at least smart-looking.  If you are not too grand to invite me to your place, I should like to come and see you, but of course you must do as you please.  I got your address from the bank Uncle Mallory used to send us checks on.  I can tell you we have missed those checks pretty badly this last year.  I hope you have now got over your great sorrow.—­This boarding-house is horribly poky but cheap, which is the great thing.  I arrived the night before last,

“And I am
    Your affectionate cousin
                     FANNY MERTON.”

No, it really was not an attractive letter.  On the second reading, Diana pushed it away from her, rather hastily.  Then she reminded herself again, elaborately, of the Mertons’ disadvantages in life, painting them in imagination as black as possible.  And before she had gone far with this process all doubt and distaste were once more swept away by the rush of yearning, of an interest she could not subdue, in this being of her own flesh and blood, the child of her mother’s sister.  She sat with flushed cheeks, absorbed in a stream of thoughts and reminiscence.

“You look as though you had had good news,” said Sir James Chide, as he paused beside her on his way through the drawing-room.  He was not a sportsman; nor was Mr. Ferrier.

His eyes rested upon her with such a kind interest, his manner showed so plainly yet again that he desired to be her friend, that Diana responded at once.