"Cruel! She is a fiend, I tell you," cried Diana. "One of those women who have nothing left in their natures but hatred for those who are still young and pretty. I realized long ago that she would ruin my reputation if she could, but I did not give her credit for so much cleverness."
"Well, at any rate, she is not so clever as she thinks," said April drily. "For she hasn't ruined your reputation, after all; only mine."
Diana started; terror came into her eyes.
"My God, April! You don't mean to give me away?"
April knew very well what she meant to do. She had tasted of "the triumph and the roses and the wine," and the bill had been presented. Even though it left her bankrupt and disgraced, she was going to honour that bill; but she could not resist finding out what point of view was held by Diana as to similar obligations.
"You think, then, it is my name that should be left with the smirch on it?" she asked dispassionately.
Diana grew crimson and then very pale.
"The scandal . . ." she stammered; "my people . . . you don't know what it would mean to have such a story attached to me."
"It would be better to have it attached to me, of course," April agreed, with an irony that was entirely wasted on Diana.
"You see that, don't you?" she said eagerly. "After all, nobody knows your name, and it will soon be forgotten. But mine——"