“Do you expect me to make protestations?” said Diana, shaking herself free with a little embarrassment, feeling compunctions on her own side that she could not be more effusive. “I ought to have thought of it before, but it did not occur to me. Yes, to be sure, we must see the snows. We have our time in our own hands; we are not compelled to be at home by a certain day like Mr. Hunstanton.” “Oh, Mr. Hunstanton! he is so fussy, always interfering with everything--what does it matter when he gets home? I am tired of Mr. Hunstanton!” cried Sophy. “You should not speak so rashly, my dear. Mr. Hunstanton has been very kind. _She_ has never liked us much. She has always been jealous of Diana’s love for you, never seeing how natural it was: but Mr. Hunstanton has always been kindness itself. Oh, I am sure she will make disagreeable remarks now! She will say we don’t mind what expense we put Diana to. I know exactly how she will look. But do not think anything of that--_I_ do not mind, Diana. Do not imagine that I would take the pleasure out of your journey, dear, for anything any one could say----” “And spoil our own pleasure, too, when Diana is so kind,” cried Sophy, with frank delight. “Oh, do you think my old travelling-dress will do, aunt?--or should I have another grey alpaca? Switzerland! I never, never thought of such happiness: though indeed,” added the girl with a sigh, “I shall be very, very sorry to leave Pisa, too. I have never been so happy as here.” What was it that had made Sophy so happy? Diana looked at her with some curiosity, patting her softly on the cheeks. “So many parties,” said Sophy, “or at least as good as parties. We have never been at home for a whole week. There has always been something going on; and expeditions; and dances now and then. I have never been so happy in all my life before.” “Hush, hush, my darling! you would be just as happy at home. I _hope_ my Sophy does not want constant amusement to make her happy; but still it has been very pleasant, and, of course, we could not hope to have so much in a quiet country place.” “And in England! where, as Colonel Winthrop says, the skies are always grey, and the company bumpkins,” said Sophy, with the sublime contempt of a traveller. What could Diana do but laugh as they played their little pranks before her. They were as good as two little white mice in a cage. “You had better look into that serious question of toilet,” she said, “and quite make up your mind whether another grey alpaca is necessary; for if we do go to Switzerland, there will be a great deal of travelling to do.” “What shall you wear, Diana?” said Sophy, growing serious; “for you know your merino that you came in will be too warm. I wish you would think of that a little more. Yes, auntie, indeed I must speak. You know you always say that Diana never does herself justice.”