“Yes—but then we have no maid to do anything for us; and if we want to have our things nice, we must get up early,” said Mrs. Norton. “We thought most likely you would be at breakfast, and that we should be sure to see you alone for a few minutes—you are always so much engaged now.”
“Am I? I thought I was generally at my friends’ disposal,” said Diana, with a smile; and then there was a little pause. For even her smile when she looked up at them expectant, perceiving something that was on their lips to be said, alarmed the two little women. However, Mrs. Norton, feeling the situation to be too serious for silence on her part, took courage and began—
“Diana—we don’t want to disturb you, dear. We know you are sure to do what is best and kindest for everybody; but we should just like to know, if you don’t mind, what your plans are——”
“My plans! I don’t think I have any plans,” said Diana, surprised, and then she laughed and added, “To be sure, we can’t stay here all the summer, can we? We are not at home, are we? That is what I always forget when I get settled anywhere.”
“And not much wonder: for you can surround yourself with all kinds of comforts,” said Mrs. Norton, looking round her wistfully. To be sure, the third floor upstairs was not like the piano nobile: but she did not intend to seem to make any injurious comparison. The idea was suggested however, and Diana, who was very quick, took it up, and she coloured, and a pained look came upon her face. This was the kind of reproach to which she was most susceptible. It was as if she had been accused of making herself comfortable at some one else’s expense.
“I hope you are not uncomfortable upstairs,” she said. “I thought the house was the same all the way up—no difference but the stairs.”
“Oh no, Diana, dear!” cried Sophy. “Our drawing-room is not half so big as this. It is divided into two. This part is auntie’s room in our apartment——”
“But that does not matter a bit,” cried her aunt; “you must not think we are anything but comfortable, and quite happy, Diana, and most grateful to you.”
“Never mind about being grateful,” said Diana, “the comfort is much more important.” She laughed and shook off her momentary offence. “If there is anything I can do to secure that, you must tell me,” she said, kindly; “the Hunstantons’ rooms perhaps might be better when they leave.”
“Oh!” cried both the appellants, with a common breathlessness. “That was just what we meant to ask you about,” Mrs. Norton went on—Sophy, so to speak, running behind the skirts of the elder and more skilful operator. “We wanted to know if you thought—if you wished—what you think we ought to do? We came with the Hunstantons; and Pisa is not a place to stay in, in summer. But on the other hand, to go back to the Red House when you were away, Diana——”