"You are a great man with the Tenth, Henry," she said. "To hear them talk, one would think you carried the regiment in your pocket. And the dear mother there—to see her listen to your praises! Oh, well, it’s very beautiful—you both had better go and glory in some more. The taste for adulation will grow insatiable after this—won’t it?" As she spoke she lifted her long, slender hands and fastened them across her brows. Henry came to her. She was very beautiful; an unusual pallor gave her face a delicate spirituality. In the dim light her soft white draperies, the fluttering scarf ends, and the wreath of green leaves made her seem half a sprite. "Won’t you return with us, Di?" "No—I have a headache. I’ll stay here in the air for a few moments." As she spoke, Jim came towards them. "The next is our dance, Diana. Will you come?" Henry answered for her with unmistakable sarcasm. "Perhaps Jim will stay with you, Di, as you have a headache." And Jim innocently replied, "With pleasure; I’ve really been doing duty quite assiduously in the way of dancing." He crossed to Diana’s side. Lady Elizabeth, who had been trying to divert an awkward moment, drew her arm through Henry’s. Henry looked at his mother’s face, which grew tender as her eyes rested on him. "I’m afraid my wife does not share your pleasure in my praises, mater." "Oh yes," Diana answered, "but you must not expect a wife to have the illusions of a mother." It was lightly said, to cover up an apparent effort on Henry’s part to cause an embarrassing moment. Lady Elizabeth took up the cue. She glanced from Jim to Diana, but they were beginning to talk; she almost drew Henry forcibly away as she said with forced gayety, "No—no one can love you as your mother does, dear." She little knew the prophetic truth of her words or to what length her mother-love would lead her before another day had passed at the Towers. *CHAPTER IX* These moments of respite from the dancing were peaceful, Diana thought, as Jim drew a chair forward and seated himself beside her. She was strangely unsettled to-night. Her head ached slightly, it was true, but she was conscious that ever since Lady Elizabeth’s remark concerning Jim and Sadie Jones, a curious irritation had possessed her. She didn’t stop to reason it out, but plunged at once into the heart of the matter. "I congratulate you, Jim." "On what?" "Your brilliant prospects." "We’ve never met—shouldn’t know them if I saw them." So Diana knew too of the scheme to secure a fortune for the house of Kerhill. Jim was curious to learn her point of view. There was a new touch of bitterness in Diana’s voice that puzzled him. "Don’t let them beat you down in the price, Jim. If you sell your sweet young life, let it be at a good round figure, for our sakes." The scornful mirth of her last words was unmistakable. "I shall always be a joke to you, Diana."