"I think it looks very nice hanging there," declared Diana, nodding at her Union Jack.
"My dear," said Mrs. Fleming in a shaky voice, "if you knew what I suffered when I saw you creeping along the triforium you couldn't speak so lightly. It isn't right to risk your life in this fashion."
Diana tried to carry the matter off airily, but the boys were grumpy and would not speak. Meg kept looking at her with a peculiar expression, as if she were recovering from a shock. Altogether, Diana felt that her deed of daring had fallen very flat. She was annoyed that no one congratulated her upon it. She considered that for a girl of fourteen it was rather a record. Monty would not be able to sneer at "Miss America" again. She strolled in a casual way past the font which he was decorating, and made a final effort to wring from him the appreciation she craved.
"There are some steeple-jennies in the world!" she remarked, staring upwards at the clerestory.
Monty picked up another piece of holly, placed it deliberately in position, and then turned his spectacles on Diana.
"And there are more jenny-asses in it too than I should have expected!" he answered pointedly.
When Diana had undressed that evening Mrs. Fleming came into her room to say good-night, and sat down for a minute on the edge of her bed.
"Have you thought, dear," she said, "what it would have meant to Mr. Fleming and me to have been obliged to write to your father and mother and tell them you were lying dead, or, worse still, a cripple with a broken spine; and what your father's and mother's feelings would have been at the news?"
Diana turned her face away.
"Thoughtlessness can sometimes amount to heartlessness in its lack of consideration for others."