“I was asleep!” and Diana twisted up a tress of her hair which had become loosened during her slumber. “How dreadfully lazy of me! Thank you, Rose! I won’t be ten minutes dressing.”
While she spoke she noticed that Rose looked at her very curiously and intently, but made no remark. Passing into the rooms, the maid performed her usual duties of drawing blinds, closing shutters and turning on the electric lights in the bedroom,—then, before going, she said:
“Sleep is a great restorer, Madame! You look so much better for an afternoon’s rest!”
With that she retired,—and Diana hurried her toilette. She was in such haste to get out of her daily working garb into a “rest gown” that she never looked in the mirror till she began to arrange her hair, and then she became suddenly conscious of an alteration in herself that surprised her. What was it? It was very slight—almost too subtle to be defined,—and she could not in the least imagine where the change had occurred, but there was undoubtedly a difference between the face that had looked at her from that same mirror some hours previously and the one that looked at her now. It was no more than the lightest touch given by some great painter’s brush to a portrait—a touch which improves and “lifts” the whole expression. However, she had no time to wait and study the mystery,—minutes were flying, and the silver arrow of the warning dial pointed to the figure eight, and its attendant word “Dinner.” Even as she looked, the chime struck the hour,—so she almost jumped into a gown of pale blue, chosen because it was easy to put on, and pinning a few roses from one of the vases in her room among the lace at her neck, she ran downstairs just in time to see Dimitrius taking his mother on his arm, as he always did when there were no guests, into the dining-room. She followed quickly with the murmured apology:
“I’m so sorry to be late!”
“Never mind, my dear,” said Madame Dimitrius. “Féodor tells me you have had some hard work to do, and that he wished you to rest. I hope you slept?”
But, as she put the question, her eyes opened widely in a sudden expression of wonderment, and she gazed at Diana as though she were something very strange and new.
“Yes, she must have slept, I think,” put in Dimitrius quietly and with marked emphasis. “She looks thoroughly rested.”
But Madame Dimitrius was still preoccupied by thoughts that bewildered her. She could hardly restrain herself while the servant Vasho was in the room, and the moment he left it to change the courses, she began:
“Féodor, don’t you see a great difference——”