“Yes--Miss Preston will do,” she said, and forthwith she was shown into a shady little morning-room which she well remembered, where she used to tot up the tradesmen’s books and sort the bills. A saucy-looking girl with curly brown hair rose from the perusal of a novel and stared at her inquiringly and superciliously. “I have called to see Mrs. May”--she explained “on very particular and personal business.” “What name?” inquired the girl, with a standoffish air. “The same as her own. Kindly tell her, please. Miss May.” “I really don’t know whether she will see you,” said the girl, carelessly. “I am her secretary and companion----” “So I imagine!” and Diana, without being asked, sank gracefully into an easy chair, which she remembered as comfortable--“I was also her secretary and companion--for some time! She knows me very well!” “Oh, in that case----But does she expect you?” “Hardly!” And Diana smiled. “But I’m sure she’ll be glad to see me. You are Miss Preston? Yes? Well then, Miss Preston, do please go and tell her!” At that moment, a loud voice called: “Lucy! Loo--cee! Where’s my pipe?” Diana laughed. “The same old voice!” she said. “That’s Mr. May, isn’t it? He’s calling you--and he doesn’t like being kept waiting, does he?” Miss Preston’s face had suddenly flushed very red. “I’ll tell Mrs. May,” she stammered, and hurriedly left the room. Diana gazed about her on all the little familiar things she had so often dusted and arranged in their different places. They were all so vastly removed now in association that they might have been relics of the Stone Age so far as she was concerned. All at once the door opened and a reddish face peered in, adorned with a white terrier moustache--then a rather squat body followed the face and “Pa” stood revealed. With an affable, not to say engaging air, he said: “I beg your pardon! Are you waiting to see anyone?” Diana rose, and her exquisite beauty and elegance swept over his little sensual soul like a simoon. “Yes!” she answered, sweetly, while he stared like a man hypnotised--“I want to see Mrs. May--and _you_!” “Me!” he responded, eagerly--“I am only too charmed!” “But I had better speak to Mrs. May first,” she continued--“I have something very strange to tell her about her daughter----” “Her daughter! Our daughter! My poor Diana!” And Mr. May immediately put on the manner of a pious grocer selling short weight--“Our darling was drowned last summer!--drowned! Drowned while bathing in a dangerous cove on the Devon coast. Terrible--terrible!--And she was so----” “Young?” suggested Diana, sympathetically. “No--er--no!--not exactly young!--she was not a girl like you!--no!--but she was so--so useful--so adaptable! And you have something strange to tell us about her?--well, why not begin with me?” He approached her more closely with a “conquering” smile. She repressed her inclination to laugh, and said, seriously: