She smiled, and her attitude and expression were royally triumphant. Madame Dimitrius had reached the door of the apartment, and with her hand leaning against it turned back to look at her in evident terror. Then she essayed to speak again.
“I am sorry,” she faltered—“if I seem strange and harsh—but—but you are not Diana May—not the woman I knew! She had grown younger and prettier under my son’s treatment—but you!—you are a mere girl!—and I feel—I know you are not, you cannot be human!”
A light of something like scorn flashed from Diana’s eyes.
“Is humanity so valuable!” she asked.
But this question was more than enough for Madame Dimitrius. With a shuddering exclamation of something like utter despair, she hurriedly opened the door, and stumbled blindly out into the corridor, there to be caught in the arms of her son, who was coming to Diana’s rooms.
“Why, mother!” he ejaculated—“what is this?”
Diana stood at her half-open door, looking at them both like a young angel at the gate of paradise.
“Your mother is frightened of me,” she explained gently. “She says I am not human. I daresay that’s very likely! But do try and comfort her, and tell her that I have no evil intentions towards her or you. And that I am going away as soon as you will allow me to do so.”
His brows contracted.
“Mother,” he said reproachfully, “is this how you keep your promise to me? I gave you my confidence—you see the full success of my great experiment—and yet you reward me thus?”