friendliest feeling for the Italian--more, she had that half-flattered, half-sorry sense that he thought more of herself than could ever be recompensed to him, which often makes a woman almost remorsefully tender of a man for whom she has no love. But that he did not look up, that he rushed out of the room with his head down, might not that mean only that he was more occupied than usual? “I hope there is nothing wrong,” she said to herself; then dismissed him from her thoughts. But a few minutes later Mrs. Hunstanton came in also, with a little rush. There was care, and many puckers upon her brow. She got quickly over the usual salutations, kissed Diana with an _air distrait_, and dashed at once into her subject. “Have you seen Pandolfini this morning?” she said. It was a bad habit she had, and which a woman, if she is not very much on her guard, is likely to take from her husband, to call men by their surnames. Mr. Hunstanton was not particular on this point. “I saw him come in some time ago--and I saw him go out,” said Diana. “I see everything here. I have taken a lazy fit this morning: it is so pleasant----” “But about Pandolfini,” her friend cried, interrupting her. “Diana, I am dreadfully frightened that Tom has been making a muddle. I am sure he has got a finger in the pie.” “In what pie?” Diana was inclined to laugh, but restrained herself--for did not Mr. Hunstanton manage to get a finger into every possible kind of pie? “You know what I think of Pandolfini: you remember what I said to you the other night----” “You said--nonsense: pardon me--but you know all that is utterly out of the question. It is unkind indeed to suppose anything of a man which he does not betray himself----” “As if he had not betrayed himself! As if you did not know as well as I do, and a great deal better! Diana, I am going to put it to you once more. Is there the slightest chance for him? Now, don’t keep up your Noes from mere consistency’s sake. I am sure some women do--till they repent it: but I should have no patience with you, who ought to know better! You are not a fool, Diana. You know something of life. You understand that a good, faithful, honest, honourable man--who loves you----” The tears had come to Mrs. Hunstanton’s eyes. Tom was a great trouble to her often. He was always having a finger in everybody’s pie--but still----she felt as he did that it was something to have a good, faithful, honourable man by your side. Her view was perhaps even higher than his, though she was frank in owning that a married woman’s life was no path of roses. She felt disposed to press matrimony upon Diana even more warmly, more sentimentally, than her husband had pressed it upon Pandolfini--but her hopes of success were a great deal lower. She looked wistfully at her friend through the moisture in her eyes.