Returning, Mrs. Fenton plumped into her armed-chair and desired Diana would shut the door.
“And now are we private, my bird, and I would have it all. I will see Mrs. Clayton later. She grunts mightily with her cough, poor woman, and ’tis a kind heart, all said and done! So I’ll go, but later. Now, child!”
She drew up a stool to her mamma’s feet and leaned her arm on the maternal knee, looking up with her smile angelical.
“ ’Tis not marriage, my mamma, but something much more desirable.”
“What? What? Not marriage? Sure there’s nothing more desirable than marriage for a girl,” cries mamma, her face falling.
It came a little foolish from poor Mrs. Fenton who had certainly not been blest either in her first venture nor her second. Her daughter shot a glance at her from those dangerous long eyes of hers.
“Need we pretend when we are alone, Mamma? Sure I know very well you were not happy with my father. How could you be and him in the colonies? ’Twas scarce to be called marriage. And Mr. Fenton——” she paused expressively.
“O my child,” cried Mrs. Fenton, dissolving into facile tears, “what do you know of such horrors, and why is my unhappy fate to be yours? Sure there are good honest men in the world that love their wives and have never an eye for any man’s else’s.”
“If there be, I’ve not seen them. They never come my way,” replied Diana sombrely. “Men! I loathe and detest them. Ever since I grew up and comprehended their aims I’ve feared and hated them.”
“Lord, how unnatural! You that’s all beauty and sweetness and that they would die to please, how can that be? Alas, child, you take neither after your father nor your mother. Sure you can’t propose to be an old spinster woman with a cat and a parrot and all according! Defend us!— Sure that’s never in your mind.”