The Testing of Diana Mallory Part 24

"You mean," she said--her breath fluttering--"that--mamma sold things she had no right to--and never gave Aunt Bertha the money!"

The restrained pa.s.sion of her look had an odd effect upon her companion.

f.a.n.n.y first wavered under it, then laughed--a laugh that was partly perplexity, partly something else, indecipherable.

"Well, as I wasn't born then, I don't know. You needn't be cross with me, Diana; I didn't mean to say any harm of anybody. But--mother says"--she laid an obstinate stress on each word--"that she remembers quite well--grandpapa meant her to have: a diamond necklace; a _riviere_" (she began to check the items off on her fingers)--"there were two, and of course Aunt Sparling had the best; two bracelets, one with turquoises and one with pearls; a diamond brooch; an opal pendant; a little watch set with diamonds grandma used to wear; and then a lot of plate! Mother wrote me out a list--I've got it here."

She opened a beaded bag on her wrist, took out half a sheet of paper, and handed it to Diana.

Diana looked at it in silence. Even her lips were white, and her fingers shook.

"Did you ever send this to papa?" she asked, after a minute.

f.a.n.n.y fidgeted again.

"Yes."

"And what did he say? Have you got his letter?"

"No; I haven't got his letter."

"Did he admit that--that mamma had done this?"

f.a.n.n.y hesitated: but her intelligence, which was of a simple kind, did not suggest to her an ingenious line of reply.

"Well, I dare say he didn't. But that doesn't make any difference."

"Was that what he and Uncle Merton quarrelled about?"

f.a.n.n.y hesitated again; then broke out: "Father only did what he ought--he asked for what was owed mother!"

"And papa wouldn't give it!" cried Diana, in a strange note of scorn; "papa, who never could rest if he owed a farthing to anybody--who always overpaid everybody--whom everybody--"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "YOU NEEDN'T BE CROSS WITH ME, DIANA"]

She rose suddenly with a bitten lip. Her eyes blazed--and her cheeks.

She walked to the window and stood looking out, in a whirlwind of feeling and memory, hiding her face as best she could from the girl who sat watching her with an expression half sulky, half insolent. Diana was thinking of moments--recalling forgotten fragments of dialogue--in the past, which showed her father's opinion of his Barbadoes brother-in-law: "A grasping, ill-bred fellow"--"neither grat.i.tude, nor delicacy"--"has been the evil genius of his wife, and will be the ruin of his children." She did not believe a word of f.a.n.n.y's story--not a word of it!

She turned impetuously. Then, as her eyes met f.a.n.n.y's, a shock ran through her--the same sudden, inexplicable fear which had seized on Mrs.

Colwood, only more sickening, more paralyzing. And it was a fear which ran back to and linked itself with the hour of heart-searching in the wood. What was f.a.n.n.y thinking of?--what was in her mind--on her lips?

Impulses she could not have defined, terrors to which she could give no name, crept over Diana's will and disabled it. She trembled from head to foot--and gave way.

She walked up to her cousin.

"f.a.n.n.y, is there any letter--anything of grandpapa's--or of my mother's--that you could show me?"

"No! It was a promise, I tell you--there was no writing. But my mother could swear to it."

The girl faced her cousin without flinching. Diana sat down again, white and tremulous, the moment of energy, of resistance, gone. In a wavering voice she began to explain that she had, in fact, been inquiring into her affairs, that the money was not actually at her disposal, that to provide it would require an arrangement with her bankers, and the depositing of some securities; but that, before long, it should be available.

f.a.n.n.y drew a long breath. She had not expected the surrender. Her eyes sparkled, and she began to stammer thanks.

"Don't!" said Diana, putting out a hand. "If I owe it you--and I take it on your word--the money shall be paid--that's all. Only--only, I wish you had not written to me like that; and I ask that--that--you will never, please, speak to me about it again!"

She had risen, and was standing, very tall and rigid, her hands pressing against each other.

f.a.n.n.y's face clouded.

"Very well," she said, as she rose from her seat, "I'm sure I don't want to talk about it. I didn't like the job a bit--nor did mother. But if you are poor--and somebody owes you something--you can't help trying to get it--that's all!"

Diana said nothing. She went to the writing-table and began to arrange some letters. f.a.n.n.y looked at her.

"I say, Diana!--perhaps you won't want me to stay here after--You seem to have taken against me."

Diana turned.

"No," she said, faintly. Then, with a little sob: "I thought of nothing but your coming."

f.a.n.n.y flushed.

"Well, of course you've been very kind to me--and all that sort of thing. I wasn't saying you hadn't been. Except--Well, no, there's one thing I _do_ think you've been rather nasty about!"

The girl threw back her head defiantly.

Diana's pale face questioned her.

"I was talking to your maid yesterday," said f.a.n.n.y, slowly, "and she says you're going to stay at some smart place next week, and you've been getting a new dress for it. And you've never said a _word_ to me about it--let alone ask me to go with you!"

Diana looked at her amazed.

"You mean--I'm going to Tallyn!"

"That's it," said f.a.n.n.y, reproachfully. "And you know I don't get a lot of fun at home--and I might as well be seeing people--and going about with you--though I do have to play second fiddle. You're rich, of course--everybody's nice to you--"

She paused. Diana, struck dumb, could find, for the moment, nothing to say. The red named in f.a.n.n.y's cheeks, and she turned away with a flounce.

"Oh, well, you'd better say it at once--you're ashamed of me! I haven't had your blessed advantages! Do you think I don't know that!"

In the girl's heightened voice and frowning brow there was a touch of fury, of goaded pride, that touched Diana with a sudden remorse. She ran toward her cousin--appealing:

"I'm _very_ sorry, f.a.n.n.y. I--I don't like to leave you--but they are my great friends--and Lady Lucy, though she's very kind, is very old-fas.h.i.+oned. One couldn't take the smallest liberty with her. I don't think I could ask to take you--when they are quite by themselves--and the house is only half mounted. But Mrs. Colwood and I had been thinking of several things that might amuse you--and I shall only be two nights away."

"I don't want any amusing--thanks!" said f.a.n.n.y, walking to the door.

She closed it behind her. Diana clasped her hands overhead in a gesture of amazement.

"To quarrel with me about that--after--the other thing!"

No!--not Tallyn!--not Tallyn!--anywhere, anything, but that!