“Miss Diana,” he now continued, with a judicial air--“has lost her chances. It’s a pity!--for no one won’t marry her now. There’s too many young gels about,--no man wants the old ’uns. She’ll have to take up a ‘mission’ or something to get noticed at all.” Here a quiet-looking woman named Grace Laurie interposed. She was the ladies’ maid, and she was held in great respect, for she was engaged to marry (at some uncertain and distant date) an Australian farmer with considerable means. “Miss Diana is very clever--” she said--“She could do almost anything she cared to. She’s got a great deal more in her than people think. And”--here Grace hesitated--“she’s prettily made, too, though she’s over thin,--when she comes from her bath with all her hair hanging down, she looks sweet!” A gurgle of half hesitating, half incredulous laughter greeted this remark. “Well, it’s few ladies as looks ‘sweet’ coming from the bath!” declared the butler with emphasis. “I’ve had many a peep at the missis----” Here the laughter broke out loudly, with little cries of: “Oh! Oh!”--and the kitchen chatter ended. It had come to the last day of Diana’s free and uncontrolled enjoyment of the charming seaside Eden which her parents had selected as a summer retreat,--and regretfully realising this, she strolled lingeringly about the garden, inhaling the sweet odours of roses and mignonette with the salty breath of the sea. The next morning Mr. and Mrs. Polydore May would arrive in time for luncheon, and once more the old domestic jog-trot would commence,--the same routine as that which prevailed at Richmond, with no other change save such as was conveyed in the differing scene and surroundings. Breakfast punctually at nine,--luncheon at one,--tea at four-thirty,--dinner at a quarter to eight. Dinner at a quarter to eight was one of Diana’s bugbears--why not have it at eight o’clock, she thought? The “quarter to” was an irritating juggling with time for which there was no necessity. But she had protested in vain; dinner at quarter to eight was one of her mother’s many domestic “fads.” Between the several meals enumerated there would be nothing doing,--nothing, that is to say, of any consequence or use to anybody. Diana knew the whole weary, stupid round,--Mr. May would pass the morning reading the papers either in the garden or on the sandy shore,--Mrs. May would give a few muddled and contradictory orders to the servants, who never obeyed them literally, but only as far as they could be conveniently carried out, and then would retire to write letters to friends or acquaintances; in the afternoon Mr. May would devote himself to golf, while his wife slept till tea-time,--then she would take a stroll in the garden, and perhaps--only perhaps--talk over a few household affairs with her daughter. Then came the “quarter to eight” dinner with desultory and somewhat wrangling conversation, after which Mrs. May slept again, and Mr.