Diana threw out her hands, laughing. "You are invincible! Well, I cannot hate you; and I've given you my warning. Make him marry you; you can if you choose, and now is your time. If there should be children-- legitimate children, O my poor mamma!--there will be the devil to pay and helpless family councils, all of which I shall charge myself to enjoy and to report to you. If there should be none, we're safe with Mrs. Harry. She'll breed a dozen. . . . Am I coarse? Oh, yes, the Vyells can be coarse! while as for the Petts--but you have heard dear mamma." They talked together for a few minutes after this. But their talk shall not be reported: for with what do you suppose it dealt? --With Dress. As I am a living man, with Dress. In the midst of it, and while Ruth listened eagerly to what Diana had to tell of London fashions, Lady Caroline's voice was heard summoning her daughter away. Diana rose. "It is close upon dusk," she said, "and Mrs. Harry has command of the waggon. She drives very well--not better than I perhaps; but she understands this country better. All the same, the road--call it an apology for one--bristles with tree-stumps, and mamma's temper will be unendurable if the dark overtakes us before we reach the next farm. I forget its name." "Natchett?" "Yes, Natchett. We spend the night there." "But why did not Mr. Silk drive you over?" "Did mamma tell you he was escorting us?" "No. I guessed." "Nasty little fellow. Sloppy underlip. I cannot bear him. Can you?" "I do not like him." "It's a marvel to me that my cousin tolerates him. . . . By the way, I shall not wonder if he--Oliver, I mean--loses his temper heavily when he learns of our expedition, and bundles us straight back to Europe. I warned mamma." "So--I am afraid--did I." "Yes?"--and again they laughed together. "My poor parent! . . . She assured me that her duty to the Family was her armour of proof. Hark! She's calling again." They found Lady Caroline impatient in the verandah. Ruth, to avoid speech with her, walked away to the waggon. Farmer Cordery stood at the horse's head, and Mrs. Harry beside the step, ready to mount and take the reins. But for some reason Mrs. Harry delayed to mount. "Is it you?" she said vaguely and put out a hand, swaying slightly. Ruth caught it. "Are you ill?" They were alone together for a moment and hidden from the farmer, who stood on the far side of the horse. "Nothing--a sudden giddiness. It's quite absurd, too; when I've been as strong as a donkey all my life." Ruth asked her a question. . . . Some word of woman's lore, dropped years ago by her own silly mother, crossed her memory. (They had been outspoken, in the cottage above the beach.) It surprised Mrs. Harry, who answered it before she was well aware, and so stood staring, trembling with surmise. "God bless you!" Ruth put out an arm on an impulse to clasp her waist, but checked it and beckoned instead to Diana.