"It was some one else, of course. Naturally I wanted to make sure, so I--sympathized with him on his aunt's illness. He had only just heard about it, himself. He's always been fond of her, and he said he couldn't have had the heart to come to a dance, if it hadn't been his last night, and the only way to see me before he left for Texas. But he told me that Mrs. Cabot's death would make him comparatively a rich man. Those were the words he used. I don't think he's sure how much he'll get. It was from Kitty I heard what Mrs. Cabot is likely to leave." "And as 'likely' isn't the same as 'certain,' you're hanging fire till she's dead," I explained Diana to herself. "You make me out heaps worse than I am," she reproached me. "If I haven't given an absolutely definite answer to Eagle March or Sidney Vandyke, it's--it's--because of this expedition they're both going on. They may get some chance to distinguish themselves. You're such a practical little person that you can't realize the romantic sort of feeling I have about such things. If I marry a man who isn't of my own country, I should like him to be a great hero, whom every one would read about and admire. I've told each of them to work, and do his best for my sake." "There'll probably be no opportunity for anything heroic in such an expedition as this," said I, living up to the reputation--ill-deserved--for practicality, which Di wished to thrust on me in contrast with herself. "That's what they both said," she agreed, "but one never knows." "And so you get a story-book-heroine excuse to wait!" "Little viper!" "The cat-pig-viper won't sting unless you force it to," I guaranteed. "There! Your dress is all right again." "You could have finished five minutes ago, if you hadn't been determined to lecture me. Thanks, all the same. You have your uses, though they're not always sweet, like those of adversity."