“It will be hard for you to do without all you’ve had—­when you’ve had so much—­but—­”

“Oh, it isn’t that,” Diane broke in, fiercely.  “It isn’t for me.  I can do well enough.  It’s for you.”

“Don’t worry about me, dear.  I can work.”

The words were spoken in a matter-of-fact tone, but Diane recoiled at them as at a sword-thrust.

“You can—­what?”

It was the last touch, not only of the horror of the situation, but of its ludicrous irony.

“I can work, dear,” Mrs. Eveleth repeated, with the poignant tranquillity that smote Diane more cruelly than grief.  “There are many things I could do—­”

“Oh, don’t!” Diane wailed, with pleading gestures of the hands.  “Oh, don’t!  I can’t bear it.  Don’t say such things.  They kill me.  There must be some mistake.  All that money can’t have gone.  Even if it was only a few hundred thousand francs, it would be something.  I will not believe it.  It’s too soon to judge.  I’ve heard it took a long time to settle up estates.  How can they have done it yet?”

“They haven’t.  They’ve only seen its possibilities—­and impossibilities.”

“I will never believe it,” Diane burst out again.  “I will see those men.  I will tell them.  I am positive that it cannot be.  Such injustice would not be permitted.  There must be laws—­there must be something—­to prevent such outrage—­especially on you!” She spoke vehemently, striding to and fro in the little room, and brushing back from time to time the heavy brown hair that in her excitement fell in disordered locks on her forehead.  “It’s too wicked.  It’s too monstrous.  It’s intolerable.  God doesn’t allow such things to happen on earth, otherwise He wouldn’t be God!  No, no; you cannot make me think that such things happen.  You work!  The Mater Dolorosa herself was not called upon to bear such humiliation.  If God reigns, as they say He does—­”

“But, Diane dear,” Mrs. Eveleth interrupted, gently, “isn’t it true that we owe it to George’s memory to bear our troubles bravely?”

“I’m ready to bear anything bravely—­but this.”

“But isn’t this the case, above all others, in which you and I should be unflinching?  Doesn’t any lack of courage on our parts imply a reflection on him?”

“That’s true,” Diane said, stopping abruptly.

“I don’t know how far you honor George’s memory—?”

“George’s memory?  Why shouldn’t I honor it?”

“I didn’t know.  Some women—­after what you’ve just discovered—­”

“I am not—­some women!  I am Diane Eveleth.  Whatever George did I shared it, and I share it still.”

“Then you forgive him?”

“Forgive him?—­I?—­forgive him?  No!  What have I to forgive?  Anything he did he did for me and in order to have the more to give me—­and I love him and honor him as I never did till now.”

Mrs. Eveleth rose and stood unsteadily beside her desk.