She stopped short. Diana had attempted her usual rather meaningless little laugh, but had broken down half-way.
“What’s the matter?” said Rose. She put out her hand rather timidly, but Diana did not repulse it—rather did she appear to cling to the big, warm, enveloping grasp.
“Are you frightened?” asked Rose wonderingly.
“I’m tired and—and silly, I daresay. You see, it’s such a tremendous step in one’s life, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” said Rose energetically. “And it lasts for ever, too. At least, unless they die, like mine did, but you can’t marry on the off-chance of that, after all.”
“Oh, don’t!”
“I didn’t mean that I thought you meant that,” Rose explained, with habitual lucidity. “I suppose you wouldn’t be marrying him, unless you felt sure?”
“No,” said Diana faintly.
Rose looked at her. “You know, it’s still not too late, if you don’t feel perfectly certain. I know how awful it would be, after all those good, expensive presents, and all the money that’s been spent on furnishing the house, too—but, if I were you, I’d chuck it all up now, sooner than do it when you don’t really feel like it. I don’t suppose I’d have married Jim, you know, if I’d been a bit older, but I did have a certain amount of run for my money, because I was in love with him—at first. Just enough to show me that if one really cared, and the man did too—it would simply be heaven.”
“That’s what they say in books.”