"I should have thought," said Diana slowly, "that he was just the kind of man who would marry. He is"—with a little effort—"very delightful."
Miss Lermontof got up to go.
"You have a saying in England: All is not gold that glitters. It is very good sense," she observed.
"Do you mean"—Diana's eyes were suddenly apprehensive—"do you mean that he has done anything wrong—dishonourable?"
"I think," replied Olga Lermontof incisively, "that it would be very dishonourable of him if he tried to—to make you care for him."
She moved towards the door as she spoke, and Diana followed her.
"But why—why do you tell me this?" she faltered.
The Russian's queer green eyes held an odd expression as she answered:—
"Perhaps it's because I like you very much better than you do me. You're one of the few genuine warm-hearted people I've met—and I don't want you to be unhappy. Good-bye," she added carelessly, "thank you for my tea."
The door closed behind her, and Diana, returning to her seat by the fire, sat staring into the flames, puzzling over what she had heard.