"These are all too elaborate," she said; "she is such a child. Perhaps it will be best for her to get some new things now, and if you will help her choose them, it will be a great favor to me, Sophie." Sophie came over and kissed her. "Poor dear," she murmured. Diana leaned back against her friend. "Don't," she said in a stifled voice. "I can't bear it." They clung together for a moment, then Diana went on steadily, "I am going to town for a few days, Sophie--I _must_ get away for a bit, and if you don't mind, you can take Bettina in while I am gone and get her things. She insists that they shall not be gifts from me. She says that she's already under great obligations--and that her own little bank account is sufficient for her needs. Then, too, she can use all of her new things in her trousseau, and it does seem rather sensible, doesn't it?" Diana had said nothing to Sophie of the meeting with Anthony in the empty house. It was an experience too sacred for discussion. But Sophie had guessed much. Anthony's continued absence, Diana's restlessness, her haggard eyes, her insistent tenderness and care of Bettina, showed the sympathetic and anxious friend that something unusual had occurred, and that Diana was fighting a tremendous battle alone. "Just let things run on here," Diana said, "as they always do. You can take my place as Bettina's chaperon, and Delia will take care of the house. I shan't be missed, and I can--get a perspective on the situation." Sophie protested. "It's too great a strain on you--you'd better send Bettina away--she and I could have a little trip somewhere." "No, it is I who must go," Diana insisted. "Bettina must get acquainted with Anthony's friends. If he is going to marry her, he must be proud of her. You know that, Sophie," sharply, "it won't do for him to take a girl as the mistress of his home whom nobody ever heard of, and who could be criticized." Sophie rubbed her fingers lightly across Diana's forehead. "You think only of Anthony--do you never think of yourself?" Diana stood up. "It's because I think of how foolish I have been," she said, "that I can get no rest. I should never have come back to America, Sophie." "But, dearest-dear, how could you know?" "I couldn't know. But, oh, I wish that I had never come." Thus it happened that Sophie and Bettina had gone into town, and the primrose gown and the little serge suit and the new hats and the five pairs of shoes, together with a wonderful creation for the yacht club dance, had been sent out, and tried on, and pronounced perfect. Sophie's taste had supplemented Bettina's meager funds. From her own store of exquisite laces and brocades, of buckles and bows, she had added finishing touches to frocks which might otherwise have been commonplace. When, therefore, on the day after her adventure with Justin Bettina took off her wrap in the cloak room of the yacht club, Sara Duffield drew a sharp breath of amazement.