“Foolish—it is that. There are so many sensible people in the world,” said Diana, apologetic. “Yes, I had it embroidered for her on all her things. It was funny, but how it pleased Sophy! And why not? Lady Loamshire has her coronet on her handkerchiefs, and her husband’s grandfather, you know, after all, was only a—cheesemonger: whereas the Pandolfinis—— But you know that better than I do.”
“Lady Loamshire! how can you be so ridiculous! She is a great personage. She is an English countess.”
“And Sophy is an Italian one. What difference is there besides?”
“What are you two arguing about?” said Mr. Hunstanton. “I will set it right for you, if you will tell me. To be sure, the Pandolfinis. Tell me all about them, Diana. I suppose they are very happy, and all that. They went to the Villa for the honeymoon, English fashion? Ah, Pandolfini always was an Anglo-maniac; and I am very glad he has an English wife. I had a hand in that. Did my wife ever tell you, Diana——?”
“Oh yes, I told her—she knows everything,” said Mrs. Hunstanton, with a suppressed groan; “but when you tell your wise deeds, if I were you I would leave that out. If ever a man had his heart broken by his friend——”
“Yes, listen to her, Diana. She wants me to believe that I spoke to the wrong person—a likely thing! For you know I managed it all. Pandolfini put it into my hands. And she says I made a mistake!” said Mr. Hunstanton, rubbing his hands. “Now I put it to you, Diana, as an impartial person, supposing even that I was a fool, as she makes me out, who was there else to propose to? That’s the question. I defy you to answer that. If it was not Sophy, who could it be?”
The two ladies said nothing. They exchanged a half-guilty furtive glance, not venturing even to look at each other openly. Mr. Hunstanton was triumphant; he rubbed his hands more and more.
“You perceive?” he said, “that is the weak point with women—not but what I have the highest respect for your judgment, both of you. You are delightfully rapid in your conclusions,” added Mr. Hunstanton, with naïve originality, “and jump at a truth which we might not reach for weeks with the aid of pure reason: but the practical argument has little favour with you. When I ask you, What other lady was there? What other could I have been sent to? neither the one nor the other of you can find a word to say.”
“No,” said Diana; her voice sounded flat and trembled a little. “No,” she said, “I think—you must have done what was best.”
Mrs. Hunstanton gave her an indignant glance: but what could they say? It was not possible to utter any name, or give any indication between them. They were even a little overawed by the determined simplicity of the appeal.