unquestionably true. “Then they were really married?” said Mrs. Hunstanton; “he did not get out of it? I hoped he would up to the last moment. Honour is a great thing, but that is carrying honour too far, Diana. I could not have done it. Perhaps you could who are more high-minded----” “We are not called upon to judge,” said Diana, “so we need not inquire who could have done it. I hope they may be very happy----” “Do not be fictitious,” cried Mrs. Hunstanton. “Happy! Sophy would be happy with her new dresses anywhere.” “And her coronet,” said Diana, smiling. “Her--coronet! do you mean to say you encouraged her in such folly? Diana, I never can understand you. Are you a cynic? are you a----?” “Fool, perhaps. I will save your feelings by saying the word myself. Yes, I suppose I am a fool: for I--miss them,” said Diana, half laughing, half crying. “It is quite true. Their little ways, their little talk, their kindnesses, and even their little amiable selfishnesses--yes, I don’t deny it. I miss them: so I suppose I am, as you say, a fool.” “I never said it. Amiable selfishness!--what sort of a thing is that? No, Diana, I don’t understand you. You are either the goodest, or the strangest, or the most----” “Foolish--it is that. There are so many sensible people in the world,” said Diana, apologetic. “Yes, I had it embroidered for her on all her things. It was funny, but how it pleased Sophy! And why not? Lady Loamshire has her coronet on her handkerchiefs, and her husband’s grandfather, you know, after all, was only a--cheesemonger: whereas the Pandolfinis---- But you know that better than I do.” “Lady Loamshire! how can you be so ridiculous! She is a great personage. She is an English countess.” “And Sophy is an Italian one. What difference is there besides?” “What are you two arguing about?” said Mr. Hunstanton. “I will set it right for you, if you will tell me. To be sure, the Pandolfinis. Tell me all about them, Diana. I suppose they are very happy, and all that. They went to the Villa for the honeymoon, English fashion? Ah, Pandolfini always was an Anglo-maniac; and I am very glad he has an English wife. I had a hand in that. Did my wife ever tell you, Diana----?” “Oh yes, I told her--she knows everything,” said Mrs. Hunstanton, with a suppressed groan; “but when you tell your wise deeds, if I were you I would leave that out. If ever a man had his heart broken by his friend----” “Yes, listen to her, Diana. She wants me to believe that I spoke to the wrong person--a likely thing! For you know I managed it all. Pandolfini put it into my hands. And she says I made a mistake!” said Mr. Hunstanton, rubbing his hands. “Now I put it to you, Diana, as an impartial person, supposing even that I was a fool, as she makes me out, who was there else to propose to? That’s the question. I defy you to answer that. If it was not Sophy, who could it be?”