Mrs. Colwood colored deeper than ever.  But apparently she could think of nothing to say.  Her eyes were riveted on her companion.

“No, I’m not rich,” resumed Diana, with a frown, drawing circles on the ground with her finger.  “Perhaps I oughtn’t to have taken this house.  I dare say it was horrid of me.  But I couldn’t have known—­could I?—­that Fanny would be coming and want a thousand pounds?”

She looked up expecting sympathy—­perhaps a little indignation.  Mrs. Colwood only said: 

“I suppose she would not have come over—­if things had not been very bad.”

“Why didn’t she give me some warning?” cried Diana—­“instead of talking about French lessons!  But am I bound—­do you think I am bound?—­to give the Mertons a thousand pounds?  I know papa got tired of giving them money.  I wonder if it’s right!”

She frowned.  Her voice was a little stern.  Her eyes flashed.

Mrs. Colwood again touched her hair with a hand that trembled.

“They are your only relations, aren’t they?” she said, pleadingly.

“Yes,” said Diana, still with the same roused look.

“Perhaps it would set them on their feet altogether.”

The girl gave a puzzled laugh.

“Did she—­Muriel, did she ask you to tell me?”

“I think she wanted me to break it to you,” said Mrs. Colwood, after a moment.  “And I thought it—­it might save you pain.”

“Just like you!” Diana stooped to kiss her hand.  “That’s what your headache meant!  Well, but now—­ought I—­ought I—­to do it?”

She clasped her hands round her knees and swayed backward and forward—­pondering—­with a rather sombre brow.  Mrs. Colwood’s expression was hidden in the darkness of the big chair.

“—­Always supposing I can do it,” resumed Diana.  “And I certainly couldn’t do it at once; I haven’t got it.  I should have to sell something, or borrow from the bank.  No, I must think—­I must think over it,” she added more resolutely, as though her way cleared.

“Of course,” said Mrs. Colwood, faintly.  Then she raised herself.  “Let me tell her so—­let me save you the conversation.”

“You dear!—­but why should you!” said Diana, in amazement.

“Let me.”

“If you like!  But I can’t have Fanny making you look like this.  Please, please go to bed.”

* * * * *

An hour later Mrs. Colwood, in her room, was still up and dressed, hanging motionless, and deep in thought, over the dying fire.  And before she went to sleep—­far in the small hours—­her pillow was wet with crying.

CHAPTER VIII

“I thought I’d perhaps better let you know—­I’m—­well, I’m going to have a talk with Diana this morning!”