“Well, I suppose that the people who write the books know,” said Rose simply.
Diana began to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“I don’t know why I’m so silly and unlike myself. Of course, I’ve known him all my life, and we’ve always been fond of one another. It’s only that being married to a man is—is rather frightening, in a way, don’t you think?”
“It wouldn’t be, if you loved him.” Rose was staunch to her creed. “When I was a schoolgirl my mother used to tell me that when one really cared about a man, one cared with one’s body as well as one’s soul. And nothing to be ashamed of, either, she used to say.”
That Diana did not share Mrs. Smith’s opinion was evident. Her fair face and neck crimsoned.
“Oh, please——” she said hurriedly, and burst into tears.
“You poor kid! I’m awfully sorry—I didn’t mean to upset you!”
“It’s all right—I’ll go to my room. I don’t think I can be very well. Do forgive me for being so stupid.”
She hastened to the door, but Rose caught her hand again and said very earnestly:
“Look here, just half a minute. Listen: if you do really feel that you can’t carry on with this Ford business, will you tell me, and I swear I’ll stand all the racket for you—tell him myself, even if it’s only five minutes before he starts for the wedding—and—and——”