had a certain stately pride in which she herself was lacking, that even if she were told of his condition Diana might decline to do anything; and this she felt to be a most painful contingency. Besides, she had promised, and she always kept her promises. But her thoughts were constantly with Mr. Longstaff, and the romance of the affair. This made her melancholy and she talked much less than usual. Suddenly she was aroused from a reverie by hearing Diana express a careless curiosity as to what had become of the solitary young man who used to sit on the neighboring bench and do them the honor to stare at them.
For almost the first time in her life, Agatha Gosling deliberately dissembled.
"He has either gone away, or he has taken to his bed. I believe he is dying alone, in some wretched mercenary lodging."
"I prefer to believe something more cheerful," said Diana. "I believe he is gone to Paris and is eating a beautiful dinner at the Trois Frères Provençaux."
Agatha for a moment said nothing; and then—
"I don't think you care what becomes of him," she ventured to observe.
"My dear child, why should I care?" Diana demanded.
