"It was not that."
Diana stared, the low tone was so earnest, vehement even. "Well, at all events I know him well enough to assure you he will never give you up."
"Ah!" Ruth drew a long sigh over the joy in her heart, and, a second later, hated herself for it.
"—until afterwards."
"Afterwards?" the girl echoed.
"Afterwards. My cousin Oliver is a tenacious man, and you would seem to have worked him up to temporary heroics. But I beg you to reflect that what for you must have been a real glimpse into hell"—Diana shivered—" was likely enough for him no more than an occasion for posing. Fine posing, I'll allow." She paused. "It didn't degrade him, actually. He's a Vyell; and as another of 'em I may tell you there never was a Vyell could face out actual degradation. You almost make me wish we were capable of it. To lose everything—" She paused again. "You make it more alluring, somehow, than the prospect of endless London seasons—Diana Vyell, with a fading face and her market missed—that's how they'll put it—and, pour me distraire this side of the grave, the dower-house, a coach, a pair of wind-broken horses, and the consolations of religion! If we were capable of it. . . . But where's the use of talking? We're Vyells. And—here's my point—Oliver is a Vyell. He may be strong-willed, but—did mamma happen to talk at all about the 'Family'?"
"I think," answered Ruth with another faint flash of mirth, "it was I who asked her questions about it."
Diana threw out her hands, laughing. "You are invincible! Well, I cannot hate you; and I've given you my warning. Make him marry you; you can if you choose, and now is your time. If there should be children— legitimate children, O my poor mamma!—there will be the devil to pay and helpless family councils, all of which I shall charge myself to enjoy and to report to you. If there should be none, we're safe with Mrs. Harry. She'll breed a dozen. . . . Am I coarse? Oh, yes, the Vyells can be coarse! while as for the Petts—but you have heard dear mamma."
They talked together for a few minutes after this. But their talk shall not be reported: for with what do you suppose it dealt?
—With Dress. As I am a living man, with Dress.