Bettina nodded. "Yes. Isn't she wonderful?" "Wonderful. It's a pity we aren't a monarchy, so that Diana could rule as a queen. She's that kind of woman. A man instinctively looks up to her." "That's what Anthony says." Marveling somewhat at her familiar use of the name of the distinguished surgeon, Justin replied, "Oh, of course, Anthony thinks she's perfect. He'll marry her some day." Bettina's startled glance questioned him. "What makes you say that? He won't, of course, but what makes you say it?" "Because it would be such a perfect arrangement. They are so well matched." "It wouldn't be perfect at all. People who are alike never ought to marry. And, anyhow, they've never thought of such a thing." "How do you know?" "Because they are not in love. Any one can see that who sees them together. They are just good friends--and friendship is a very different thing from love." Justin stared at her in amazement for a moment, then he threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, wise young woman," he said, "talk to me some more of love----" "Who's talking of love?" asked Bobbie, coming up. "Bobbie doesn't think of anything else," said Justin; "only he's never sure of its object. Last month it was Sara, and now it is Doris--next week it will be----" "Next week," said Bobbie, firmly, "it will be Doris,--and the next and the next--and always----" They were on the porch now--the wide porch with its rugs and low wicker chairs, its gay striped awning and its bowls of white and purple lilacs. Sophie was waiting for them, and Justin greeted her with all the light carelessness gone from his voice. "Dear lady, it is good to see you again, but hard to see this," and his eyes went to her black gown. Her lips were tremulous. "I know. But when I meet people who knew him, it does not make me sad; it makes me glad because all of his friends are my good friends." "There are two men whom I always place side by side as peers; one is Anthony Blake and the other your husband. The surgeon and the scientist----" "Yes," she said, "and they never met. But Diana knew him--and loved him." "And she loves--Anthony----" Mrs. Martens gave him a startled look. "Hush," she said. "Oh, no, you mustn't think that." "Perhaps she doesn't realize," he said, slowly, "but the world can see it with half an eye. And everybody knows Anthony's devotion." He stopped short as Diana appeared in the doorway. She wore white lace, with a crescent of pearls set just above the parting of her dark hair. Justin was on his feet in a moment. "Diana, the huntress," he said. "You shouldn't appear like that suddenly on a moonlight night unless you want to be worshiped as a goddess----" Diana laughed. "Please don't call me 'the huntress' again. It has a sort of 'woman still pursued him' sound." Justin, with Diana, was his light mocking self. With Bettina he had been self-conscious, with Sophie tenderly sympathetic--but Diana played up, as it were, to his boyish attitude of adoration.