“Well,” continued Mrs. Wilkes, serenely picking up her story where she had been interrupted, “with the news of the fortune came Mr. Belden. Miss Sullivan was in the salon with me. He went up to her with that soft manner which he thinks so irresistible. ‘My dear Miss Mary,’ he said, ‘I had no idea that you were here with my friends. Permit me to be among the first to congratulate you. It seems that the Fates do not always err in distributing their good gifts. How long it is since we have met! Where have you been this age?’ Mary received him rather icily; and afterwards she would never speak of him, except to say that they were neighbours in childhood. I suspect that it was merely his slights during her poverty that displeased her--I don’t believe she was ever in love with him.” “Was not that the time when he was so attentive to Diana?” asked Julia. “Yes, my dear,” babbled the good, gossipy Mrs. Wilkes, “and she liked him, as débutantes are very apt to like men of the world; but Clara Waddie and Diana and Miss Sullivan were always together, and whenever Mr. Belden went, he found his ‘old friend’ cool and distant as possible. I don’t think Mary ever spoke of him to Diana, but there came a sudden end of sentimental tête-à-têtes such as they had had in Switzerland, and when he proposed to Diana to go off and look at some picture, or point of view, she always made it a condition to invite Miss Sullivan.” “Ah, these duennas!” said the brave Gyas, who had frequently found his bravery of heart and toilet to become naught in their presence. “But who is this Diana? Is her other name Moonshine? I know everybody and don’t know her. Where did you pick her up?” “Pick her up!” exclaimed Julia, in wrath. “Diana! Why, she would hardly touch anyone with her parasol, except for friendship’s sake--and she’s the dearest girl! You’ll see her this summer, but she won’t let you talk to her, because you are not agreeable enough,” and Miss Julia blushed a little the next moment and was sorry for her wrath at the brave Gyas. “Is she rich?” asked the prudent Cloanthus. “Of course; she is very rich. She owns Texas,” replied Julia confidently. “Texas!” echoed Cloanthus, bewildered by the spacious thought. “Isn’t that a state or a country, or a part of Mexico, or something?” “Perhaps it is,” admitted Julia; “perhaps she only owns half of it. But I am sure I’ve heard her speak of riding for a day over her own land.” Mrs. Wilkes was now asleep in her chair--hence, and hence only, her silence. She awoke suddenly and reminded her friends of their early morning start. They separated for the night.