“My dear,” said the elder lady, who was not addicted to phrases of affection, “I wish I could let you have a peep from my point of view without saying a word: but that is a thing which cannot be done. Diana--I don’t know if you have observed it,--but poor Pandolfini----” Involuntarily, unawares, Diana raised her hand to stop the warning with which she had been threatened, and the colour rose in her face, flushing over cheeks and forehead, to her great distress and shame. But what could she do? Some women cannot help blushing, and those who are thus affected generally consider it as the most foolish and unpleasant of personal peculiarities. She tried to look unconscious, calmly indifferent, but the effort was entirely destroyed by this odious blush. “Mr. Pandolfini?” she said, with an attempt at cheerful light-heartedness. “I hope it is not he who is your edge-tool. It does not seem to me a happy simile.” “Oh, Diana,” cried Mrs. Hunstanton, too eager to be careful, “don’t treat a man’s happiness or misery so lightly! I never questioned you on such subjects, but a woman does not come to your age without knowing something of it. Don’t take his heart out of his hand and fling it to the dogs. Don’t----” “I?” cried Diana, aghast. She grew pale and then red again, and the tears came to her eyes. “Am I such a monster? or is it only you who are rhetorical? What have I to do with Mr. Pandolfini’s heart?” “You cannot deceive me, Diana,” said her friend. “You blushed--you know very well what I mean. Men may not see such things--but women, they understand.” “We have no right to speak of a gentleman we know so little--or at least whom _I_ know so little--in this way,” said Diana, very gravely. “It is an injury to him. You are kind--you mean him well--but even with that we have no right to discuss----” “I don’t wish to discuss him, Diana. If there was any chance for him, poor man--oh no, you need not shake your head; I know well enough there is no chance for him; but don’t torture him at least,” cried Mrs. Hunstanton, getting up hastily, “this I _may_ say----” “It is the thing you ought least to say,” Diana said, accepting her good-night kiss perhaps more coldly than usual, for though she was perfectly innocent, she dared not dispute the fact pointed out to her. “No, I am not angry: but why should you accuse me so? Do I torture any one? You have made me very uncomfortable. If it is true, I shall have to break up and leave this nice place, which pleased me, and go back with you to England.” “You are afraid of yourself,” cried Mrs. Hunstanton.