But though thoughts of this kind passed in tumultuous procession through the grooves of consciousness, they were soon expelled by others.  Marsham was no mere interested schemer.  Diana should help him to his career; but above all and before all she was the adorable brown-eyed creature, whose looks had just been shining upon him, whose soft hand had just been lingering in his!  As he stood alone and spellbound in the dark, yielding himself to the surging waves of feeling which broke over his mind, the thought, the dream, of holding Diana Mallory in his arms—­of her head against his breast—­came upon him with a sudden and stinging delight.

Yet the delight was under control—­the control of a keen and practical intelligence.  There rose in him a sharp sense of the unfathomed depths and possibilities in such a nature as Diana’s.  Once or twice that evening, through all her sweet forthcomingness, when he had forced the note a little, she had looked at him in sudden surprise or shrinking.  No!—­nothing premature!  It seemed to him, as it had seemed to Bobbie Forbes, that she could only be won by the slow and gradual conquest of a rich personality.  He set himself to the task.

* * * * *

Down-stairs Mr. Ferrier and Sir James Chide were sitting together in a remote corner of the hall.  Mr. Ferrier, in great good-humor with the state of things, was discussing Oliver’s chances, confidentially, with his old friend.  Sir James sat smoking in silence.  He listened to Ferrier’s praises of Miss Mallory, to his generous appreciation of Marsham’s future, to his speculations as to what Lady Lucy would do for her son, upon his marriage, or as to the part which a creature so brilliant and so winning as Diana might be expected to play in London and in political life.

Sir James said little or nothing.  He knew Lady Lucy well, and had known her long.  Presently he rose abruptly and went up-stairs to bed.

“Ought I to speak?” he asked himself, in an agony of doubt.  “Perhaps a word to Ferrier?—­”

No!—­impossible!—­impossible!  Yet, as he mounted the stairs, over the house which had just seen the triumph of Diana, over that radiant figure itself, the second sight of the great lawyer perceived the brooding of a cloud of fate; nor could he do anything to avert or soften its downfall.

* * * * *

Meanwhile Diana’s golden hour had found an unexpected epilogue.  After her good-night to Marsham she was walking along the gallery corridor going toward her room, when she perceived Miss Vincent in front of her moving slowly and, as it seemed, with difficulty.  A sudden impulse made Diana fly after her.

“Do let me help you!” she said, shyly.

Marion Vincent smiled, and put her hand in the girl’s arm.

“How do people manage to live at all in these big houses, and with dinner-parties every night!” she said, laughing.  “After a day in the East End I am never half so tired.”