“You sigh, Diana; you blushed the other night; you don’t dislike Pandolfini?”
Diana put her hand lightly on her friend’s eager mouth. “How can I dislike,” she cried, with a voice full of emotion, “one who—cares for me? Oh, don’t speak of it—don’t make me think of it! I have—done as much myself, once. Yes, I need not blush to say it”—though she did blush, down to the edge of her white collar and up to the roots of her hair. “So that I know. And I am grateful to him, but no more——”
“He would be content with that, Diana,” said Mrs. Hunstanton, red herself to her very finger-tips in the confusion and dismay of this sudden and utterly unexpected confidence, into which she felt that she had betrayed her friend.
“Hush! not another word. It is profane,” said Diana, below her breath.
Mrs. Hunstanton was standing behind her. She gave her a sudden hug with tremulous fervour, and kissed her forehead. She dared not ask any questions, nor, indeed, in the sudden shock and surprise, say anything on this wonderful new subject, which filled her mind with questions and suggestions. With a half sob she restrained herself from speech, and the effort was no small one, as Diana felt. She turned half round in her chair, and met her friend’s eyes.
“You see I am not without understanding, nor even careless,” she said.
“I never thought so—I never thought so, Diana! I am too bewildered—I won’t attempt to say anything. But that only makes it all the worse. I know Tom has been doing something. Tom has got him into some scrape or other. I saw him rush out, with his face like ashes, looking more dead than alive.”
“I could have nothing to do with that.”
“Heaven knows!” said the poor lady; “but Tom has. Of that we may be certain. Tom has a finger in the pie.”
But Mrs. Hunstanton knew nothing more. Her husband had been mysterious and lofty all the morning, breathing hints and inferences, “I could, an if I would;” but he had been somewhat afraid of what his wife would say had he made her aware that he was ambassador for Pandolfini to Sophy. To Sophy! Mr. Hunstanton knew that his wife was capable of snatching his credentials, so to speak, out of his hand, if he had betrayed their destination. But he had not been able to refrain from hints, which she had received with eager yet impatient ears. “Don’t you meddle with Pandolfini’s love affairs,” she had said with irritation; but it was not to be expected that this vague caution could produce any effect.