"But why is Diana so interested, Justin? There are plenty of lonely and unhappy girls. So why should Diana especially pick out Bettina? She's years younger than Diana, and they really haven't much in common."
"She's very sweet——" Justin was quite unaware of the intense fervor of his tones.
Sara's eyes narrowed to little flashing points, as she asked, "Are you in love with her?"
Their eyes met. "Oh, Sara, Sara," he teased, "do you expect me to wear my heart upon my sleeve?"
"I expect you to keep it from wandering toward the daughter of an Italian singer," she said, sharply. "I always fancied that you had rather decided ideas about family, Justin."
"If you mean that I'm proud of my Knickerbocker ancestry, I am," he told her; "just as you are proud of your Pilgrim forefathers. But Bettina Dolce's blood is bluer than any that ran in the veins of our middle-class English and Dutch grandsires. Her father was a Venetian, and Bettina has the beauty of those lovely ladies of old Italy."
Sara's beauty was of an essentially modern type. "I don't see," she said, somewhat resentfully, "why I should be expected to fight the social battles of a girl who is really nothing to me."
"Surely not," easily, "but I rather fancy that any one who snubs Bettina will have to reckon with Diana—and with me——"
Sara's lashes hid her sharp little eyes. She was thinking rapidly. She did not care to offend Diana—but more, oh, much more than that, she did not care to offend Justin.
She capitulated pensively. "Why, Justin, I don't know why you are calling me to account in this way. I'm sure I'm perfectly willing to help things along."