That evening I met Diana in the hall of a house in Eaton Square. She was going downstairs as I was making my way to the ball-room, and greeted me with a rather cool little nod.
'You have quite deserted me lately,' she said, smiling, but I could read the reproach in her eyes, 'you never ride with us now.'
My throat was swelling with passionate eloquence—and I could not get any of it out.
'No, I never do,' was all my stupid tongue could find to say.
'You have discovered a more congenial companion,' said cruel Diana.
'Miss Chetwynd,' I said eagerly, 'you don't know how I have been wishing—! Will you let me ride with you to-morrow, as—as you used to do?'
'You are quite sure you won't be afraid of my naughty Wild Rose?' she said. 'I have given her such a scolding, that I think she is thoroughly ashamed of herself.'
'You thought it was that that kept me!' I cried. 'Oh, if I could tell you!'
She smiled: she was my dear, friendly Diana again.