“Why, Diana!” she exclaimed. “You talk like a tragedy queen!” Diana shrugged her shoulders lightly. “Do I?” and she slowly resumed the brushing of her hair. “There’s nothing in what I say but the distinctly obvious. Love is the necessity of life to a woman, and when that fails----” “Diana, Diana!” interrupted Sophy, shaking a warning finger at her--“you talk of love as if it really were the ‘ideal’ thing described by poets and romancists, when it’s only the sugar-paper to attract and kill the flies! We women begin life by believing in it; but every married friend of mine tells me that all the ‘honey’ of the ‘moon’ is finished in a couple of months, never again to be found in the _pot-au-feu_ of matrimony! Out of a thousand men taken at random perhaps one will really _love_, in the best and finest sense; the rest are only swayed by animal passion such as is felt by the wolf, the bear, or even the rabbit!--I really think the rabbit is the most exact prototype! How many wives one knows whose husbands not only neglect them, but are downright rude to them!--Why, my dear, your notion of ‘love’ is a dream, beyond all realisation!” “Possibly!” and Diana went on with her hair-brushing. “But whatever it is, or whatever I imagined it to be, I don’t want it now. I want--revenge!” “Revenge?” Sophy gave a little start of surprise. “You? You, always gentle, patient and adaptable! _You_ want ‘revenge’? On whom? On what?” “On all and everything that has set me apart and alone as I am!” Diana answered. “Perhaps science can show me a way to it! If so, I shall not have lived in vain!” “Diana!” exclaimed her friend. “One would think you were going to bring microbes in a bottle, or something awful of that sort, and kill people!” “Not I!” and Diana laughed quite merrily. “Killing is a common thing--and vulgar. But--I have strange dreams!” She twisted up her hair dexterously and coiled it prettily round her small, compact head. “Yes!--I have strange dreams!” she went on. “In these times we are apt to forget the conquests possible to the brain,--we let fools over-ride us when we could far more easily over-ride _them_. In my ‘salad days,’ which lasted far too long, I ‘asked for love’--now I ask for vengeance! I gave all my heart and soul to a man whose only god was Self,--and I got nothing back for my faith and truth. So I have a long score to settle!--and I shall try to have some of my spent joys returned to me--with heavy interest!” “But how?” inquired Sophy, perplexed. “You don’t expect to get any ‘spent joys’ out of this Dr. Dimitrius, do you?” Diana smiled. “No!” “And if he proves to be a charlatan, as he probably will, you say you’ll go as companion or governess or housekeeper to somebody out in Geneva--well, where are you going to find any joy in such a life as that?” Diana looked at her, still smiling.