“Miss Mallory thought you might like to see the old gardens,” said Mrs. Colwood.  “But if you would rather not venture out, I’m afraid I must go and write some letters.”

“Why, you were writing letters all the morning!  My fingers would drop off if I was to go on at it like that.  Do you like being a companion?  I should think it was rather beastly—­if you ask me.  At home they did talk about it for me.  But I said:  ’No, thank you!  My own mistress, if you please!’”

The speaker sat down by the fire, raised her skirt of purple cloth, and stretched a pair of shapely feet to the warmth.  Her look was good-humored and lazy.

“I am very happy here,” said Mrs. Colwood, quietly.  “Miss Mallory is so charming and so kind.”

Miss Fanny cleared her throat, poked the fire with the tip of her shoe, fidgeted with her dress, and finally said—­abruptly: 

“I say—­have all the people about here called?”

The tone was so low and furtive that Mrs. Colwood, who had been putting away some embroidery silks which had been left on the table by Diana, turned in some astonishment.  She found the girl’s eyes fixed upon her—­eager and hungry.

“Miss Mallory has had a great many visitors”—­she tried to pitch her words in the lightest possible tone—­“I am afraid it will take her a long time to return all her calls.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s all right about that!—­anyway.  As mamma said, you never know.  People are so queer about these things, aren’t they?  As if it was Diana’s fault!”

Through all her wrath, Muriel Colwood was conscious of a sudden pang of alarm—­which was, in truth, the reawakening of something already vaguely felt or surmised.  She looked rather sternly at her companion.

“I really don’t know what you mean, Miss Merton.  And I never discuss Miss Mallory’s affairs.  Perhaps you will kindly allow me to go to my letters.”

She was moving away when the girl beside her laughed again—­rather angrily—­and Mrs. Colwood paused, touched again by instinctive fear.

“Oh, of course if I’m not to say a word about it—­I’m not—­that’s all!  Well, now, look here—­Diana needn’t suppose that I’ve come all this way just for fun.  I had to say that about lessons, and that kind of thing—­I didn’t want to set her against me—­but I’ve ...  Well!—­why should I be ashamed, I should like to know?”—­she broke out, shrilly, sitting erect, her face flushing deeply, her eyes on fire.  “If some one owes you something—­why shouldn’t you come and get it?  Diana owes my mother money!—­a lot of money!—­and we can’t afford to lose it.  Mother’s awfully sweet about Diana—­she said, ’Oh no, it’s unkind’—­but I say it’s unkind to us, not to speak, when we all want money so bad—­and there are the boys to bring up—­and—­”

“Miss Merton—­I’m very sorry—­but really I cannot let you talk to me of Miss Mallory’s private affairs.  It would neither be right—­nor honorable.  You must see that.  She will be in by tea-time herself.  Please!—­”