"ANTHONY." The letter dropped from her fingers. She hid her face in her hands. His call echoed thunderingly in her ears. But she must not listen; she must not. She yielded for the moment, however, to the sweetness of his insistent demand. Curled up in the warm little hollow she dreamed of the things which might be--putting off, as long as possible, the moment of decision. The other letters lay unheeded at her feet. All friendship seemed futile at such a time. What could Sophie, or Bettina or Justin say which could match those burning words of her lover? [Illustration: THE OTHER LETTERS LAY UNHEEDED] The sun, rising higher, filtered through the branches and fell like golden rain upon the surface of the pool--the purple shadows gave way to emerald vistas; a trail of honey-bees traveled unerringly toward a hidden honey store. It was high noon in the forest! Diana, waking to the fact that the hours had flown, gathered up her other letters, and opened the one on top of the pile. It was Justin's. What could he have to say to her, this boy who lived his life so lightly? But when she had read the scrawled words she sat staring at them, hardly believing the things which had been written. "DEAR LADY: "Betty Dolce told me last night of her engagement to Anthony. But it was too late. You see it has come to this: that there isn't any one in the world for me but Betty--she's so little and young and sweet, and she has waked up the man in me, and that's what no other girl has ever done. "But she won't break her promise, and last night I left her crying, and I can't stand the thought of it. I just can't stand it. When it was only I who suffered, I could get along, but now--why, it's Betty's happiness against all the rest. "Am I doing a dishonorable thing, Diana, when I ask her to tell Anthony the truth? "You shall decide for us. I cannot think clearly; I love her too much. "JUSTIN." What had inspired Justin to write to her like that? Did Betty know? Did Sophie? She went to the reading of the other letters eagerly, and when at last they lay before her, and the whole pitiful little story was revealed, the tears were running down her cheeks. Oh, the unhappiness of the dear young hearts--and the happiness which was to come! Those who had assembled on the porch of the hotel in the before-luncheon hour were struck by something unusual in the bearing of the Beautiful Lady as she came toward them. All the listlessness of the morning had gone. Her head was up and she walked swiftly, lightly. "She makes me think of the 'Winged Victory,'" was the comment of the observant artist. "She gives the same impression of triumphant motion." At other times Diana had rather resented the inspection of the people on the porch. But to-day all of the faces looked friendly--she felt that she would like to say to them all, "I am going home to be happy." But what she really did was to bow somewhat shyly, and to go on with flaming cheeks.