"Will you kindly tell me"--Mrs. Wilbur sat up in bed and looked across at her husband, bewildered--"what the man was talking about?" "Can't you possibly think it out?" asked Charles Wilbur quietly. She frowned into the darkness. "You don't mean--he teases Diana about being goddess of the moon--" She paused. "You're getting warm, dear, very warm," remarked her husband. "Why, Charlie, it's impossible!" Then hotly: "He is very wise. Nothing would induce Diana to think of him." "You wouldn't like it, eh?" "Why, the idea! It's an impossible idea! I was a little apprehensive at first, when I saw how attractive he was and knew that she had been up here alone with him so long, but I soon saw there was nothing in it, and you should hear what Diana says--" "Yes, I know young girls say a great many things besides their prayers." "Well, what did you say to him when he answered you like that?" Mrs. Wilbur's tone was tense. "I told him that he might think it over, and that I should be glad to have him come." "Charles Wilbur!" exclaimed his wife severely. She threw off a down cover as if minded to rise. "Cover yourself up, dear. It's rather cool." "But that was encouraging him, Charlie." "I think he perceived it dimly. He looked at me--a long gaze--by George, he's a good-looking boy--and he didn't say a word. Then we shook hands and rejoined the others." "You have done very wrong," declared Mrs. Wilbur, pulling back the cover, but not lying down. "What do you want for Diana, Laura? A title?" "You needn't use that tone. I haven't thought out what I want for Diana." "I _have_. I want happiness for her. From the day of my arrival here, I have seen signs. I'm a rich man, but there is one thing I can't buy for my only child, and that is happiness. Diana is a fastidious, carefully bred girl, unspoiled as they make 'em, yet, of course, just as liable to fall for an infatuation as Helen Loring was." "But she hasn't, she has not, Charlie," interrupted his wife impetuously. "You don't know--" "It is you who do not know, my dear. You have been so in love with him yourself, and so obsessed with the joy of springing him on Mrs. Coolidge and your other musical friends, that you haven't seen what was going on under your nose any more than if you were a dear little bat." "Don't you call me a dear little bat! Diana is much more my child than yours. A mother understands her daughter far better than the father can. The idea of your high-handedly taking this matter into your hands without even consulting me!" "Don't get excited, Laura. I'm not forcing anything. You've had your innings. You didn't even notice what that last song of Barrison's did to Diana to-night."