Some weeks after this conversation another event occurred which surprised everybody. It happened when Diana was out, so that for a full hour the servants had the privilege of discussing what had happened before any elucidation was possible. It was in the afternoon that it happened--the drowsiest moment of the day. Common cabs from the station carrying luggage very seldom appeared in the beautiful avenue, and the butler knew that no visitor was expected. But Diana’s servants did not dare to be uncivil. It was Mrs. Norton who was in the cab, and her big box, made for Continental travel, which weighted that humble vehicle above. “The Red House--oh, I would not take the liberty,” she said, with a little tremor in her voice as she stepped out. She was as dignified as travel and weariness would permit, though her bonnet was not so neat as usual. “If you will be so very good as let the man wait in the stableyard till I see Miss Trelawny. Oh, is she out? I am very sorry,” said the little lady, growing pale. “I think I must wait and see her. I think I shall have time to wait and see her. I wonder if there will be time before the train.” She was so tired and nervous, and ready to cry with this disappointment, that Jervis made bold to inquire if all was well with Madam and the baby. “She said, ‘Oh, the Countess is very well, I thank you, Jervis,’” he reported, when he went downstairs, “as grand as possible. But you take my word there’s some screw loose. Meantime, I’ll take the poor old girl a cup of tea.” This is how our servants speak of us, with that familiar affection which is so great a bond between the different classes of society; and Mrs. Norton found Jervis so respectful and so kind, that her heart swelled within her as she sat in Diana’s little morning-room, and sipped her cup of tea. It was so good, and the house was so large and quiet, with that well-bred calm which exists only in an English house, the returned wanderer said to herself--oh, so different from old Antonio, who delivered his opinions along with every dish he served. When Jervis went downstairs she wept a little, and stifled her sobs in her handkerchief. What would Diana say? Would she blame her for this step she had taken? Would she advise her to go back again by the next train? Mrs. Norton had not ventured even to have her big box taken down from the cab, which stood looking so shabby in Diana’s stableyard. She was proud, though she was so humble-minded, and she would not make any appeal to Diana’s generosity, or look as if she expected to stay. When she had finished her tea and her crying, she went to the mirror and straightened her bonnet, and tried to look as if she had never known what a tear was. But when Diana came in all smiling, and cordial as of old, and looked at her with indulgent kind eyes that found no fault and expressed no suspicion, Mrs. Norton broke down. She threw herself into her friend’s arms, regardless of her bonnet.