The Testing of Diana Mallory Part 22

"A great deal more than I wanted to know!" she said, at last, as though the words broke from her.

Diana thought a little.

"I wonder--whether that was--what she came home for?"

Mrs. Colwood moved uneasily.

"I suppose if you are in those straits you don't really think of anything else--though you may wish to."

"Did she tell you how much they want?" said Diana, quickly.

"She named a thousand pounds!"

Muriel might have been describing her own embarra.s.sments, so scarlet had she become.

"A thousand pounds!" cried Diana, in amazement. "But then why--why--does she have so many frocks--and play cards for money--and bet on races?"

She threw her arms round Mrs. Colwood's knees impetuously.

Muriel's small hand smoothed back the girl's hair, timidly yet eagerly.

"I suppose that's the way they've been brought up."

"A thousand pounds! And does she expect me to provide it?"

"I am afraid--she hopes it."

"But I haven't got it!" cried Diana, sitting down on the floor. "I've spent more than I ought on this place; I'm overdrawn; I ought to be economical for a long time. You know, Muriel, I'm not really rich."

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 f.a.n.n.y 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 f.a.n.n.y 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!"

The voice was determined. Muriel Colwood--startled and dismayed--surveyed the speaker. She had been waylaid on the threshold of her room. The morning was half-way through. Visitors, including Mr. Fred Birch, were expected to lunch, and Miss Merton, who had been lately invisible, had already, she saw, changed her dress. At breakfast, it seemed to Mrs. Colwood, she had been barely presentable: untidy hair, a dress with various hooks missing, and ruffles much in need of washing.

Muriel could only suppose that the carelessness of her attire was meant to mark the completeness of her conquest of Beechcote. But now her gown of scarlet velveteen, her arms bare to the elbow, her frizzled and curled hair, the powder which gave a bluish white to her complexion, the bangles and beads which adorned her, showed her armed to the last pin for the encounters of the luncheon-table.

Mrs. Colwood, however, after a first dazzled look at what she wore, thought only of what she said. She hurriedly drew the girl into her own room, and shut the door. When, after some conversation, f.a.n.n.y emerged, Mrs. Colwood was left in a state of agitation that was partly fear, partly helpless indignation. During the fortnight since Miss Merton's arrival all the energies of the house had been devoted to her amus.e.m.e.nt.

A little whirlwind of dissipation had blown through the days. Two meets, a hockey-match, a concert at the neighboring town, a dinner-party and various "drums," besides a luncheon-party and afternoon tea at Beechcote itself in honor of the guest--Mrs. Colwood thought the girl might have been content! But she had examined everything presented to her with a very critical eye, and all through it had been plain that she was impatient and dissatisfied; for, inevitably, her social success was not great. Diana, on the other hand, was still a new sensation, and something of a queen wherever she went. Her welcoming eyes, her impetuous smile drew a natural homage; and f.a.n.n.y followed sulkily in her wake, accepted--not without surprise--as Miss Mallory's kinswoman, but distinguished by no special attentions.

In any case, she would have rebelled against the situation. Her vanity was amazing, her temper violent. At home she had been treated as a beauty, and had ruled the family with a firm view to her own interests.

What in Alicia Drake was disguised by a thousand subleties of cla.s.s and training was here seen in its crudest form. But there was more besides--miserably plain now to this trembling spectator. The resentment of Diana's place in life, as of something robbed, not earned--the scarcely concealed claim either to share it or attack it--these things were no longer riddles to Muriel Colwood. Rather they were the storm-signs of a coming tempest, already darkening above an innocent head.

What could she do? The little lady gave her days and nights to the question, and saw no way out. Sometimes she hoped that Diana's personality had made an impression on this sinister guest; she traced a grudging consciousness in f.a.n.n.y of her cousin's generosity and charm.

But this perception only led to fresh despondency. Whenever f.a.n.n.y softened, it showed itself in a claim to intimacy, as sudden and as violent as her ill-temper. She must be Diana's first and dearest--be admitted to all Diana's secrets and friendships. Then on Diana's side, inevitable withdrawal, shrinking, self-defence--and on f.a.n.n.y's a hotter and more acrid jealousy.

Meanwhile, as Mrs. Colwood knew, Diana had been engaged in correspondence with her solicitors, who had been giving her some prudent and rather stringent advice on the subject of income and expenditure.

This morning, so Mrs. Colwood believed, a letter had arrived.

Presently she stole out of her room to the head of the stairs. There she remained, pale and irresolute, for a little while, listening to the sounds in the house. But the striking of the hall clock, the sighing of a stormy wind round the house, and, occasionally, a sound of talking in the drawing-room, was all she heard.