"You ought to know,"—said Diana, not moving her eyes.
"I ain't a conjuror," Mrs. Starling returned with a sort of snort.
"What makes you look at me like that?"
Diana gave a short, sharp laugh. "How can you look at me?" she said. "I know all about it, mother."
Mrs. Starling with a sudden determination went round to the head of the bed and put out her hand to feel Diana's pulse. Diana shrank away from her.
"Keep off!" she cried. "Basil, Basil, don't let her touch me."
"She is out of her head," said Mrs. Starling, turning to her son-in-law, and speaking half loud. "I had better stay and sit up with her."
"No," cried Diana. "I don't want you. Basil, don't let her stay. Basil,
Basil!"—
The cry was urgent and pitiful. Her husband came near, arranged the pillows, for she had started half up; and putting her gently back upon them, said in his calm tones,—"Be quiet, Di; you command here. Mrs. Starling, shall we go down-stairs?"
Mrs. Starling this time complied without making any objection; but as she reached the bottom she gave vent to her opinion.
"You are spoiling her!"