"Well, you _have_ got a queer old place!" said Fanny Merton, withdrawing herself. She turned and looked about her, at the room, the flowers, the wide hearth, with its blazing logs, at Mrs. Colwood, and finally at Diana. "We are so fond of it already!" said Diana. "Come and get warm." She settled her guest in a chair by the fire, and took a stool beside her. "Did you like Devonshire?" The girl made a little face. "It was awfully quiet. Oh, my friends, of course, made a lot of fuss over me--and that kind of thing. But I wouldn't live there, not if you paid me." "We're very quiet here," said Diana, timidly. She was examining the face beside her, with its bright crude color, its bold eyes, and sulky mouth, slightly underhung. "Oh, well, you've got some good families about, I guess. I saw one or two awfully smart carriages waiting at the station." "There are a good many nice people," murmured Diana. "But there is not much going on." "I expect you could invite a good many here if you wanted," said the girl, once more looking round her. "Whatever made you take this place?" "I like old things so much," laughed Diana. "Don't you?" "Well, I don't know. I think there's more style about a new house. You can have electric light and all that sort of thing." Diana admitted it, and changed the subject. "Had the journey been cold?" Freezing, said Miss Merton. But a young man had lent her his fur coat to put over her knees, which had improved matters. She laughed--rather consciously. "He lives near here. I told him I was sure you'd ask him to something, if he called." "Who was he?" With much rattling of the bangles on her wrists, Fanny produced a card from her hand-bag. Diana looked at it in dismay. It was the card of a young solicitor whom she had once met at a local tea-party, and decided to avoid thenceforward. She said nothing, however, and plunged into inquiries as to her aunt and cousins. "Oh! they're all right. Mother's worried out of her life about money; but, then, we've always been that poor you couldn't skin a cent off us, so that's nothing new." Diana murmured sympathy. She knew vaguely that her father had done a good deal to subsidize these relations. She could only suppose that in his ignorance he had not done enough. Meanwhile Fanny Merton had fixed her eyes upon Diana with a curious hostile look, almost a stare, which had entered them as she spoke of the family poverty, and persisted as they travelled from Diana's face and figure to the pretty and spacious room beyond. She examined everything, in a swift keen scrutiny, and then as the pouncing glance came back to her cousin, the girl suddenly exclaimed: "Goodness! but you are like Aunt Sparling!" Diana flushed crimson. She drew back and said, hurriedly, to Mrs. Colwood: "Muriel, would you see if they have taken the luggage up-stairs?" Mrs. Colwood went at once.