Diana, propped up among her pillows, watched her friend as she flitted like a gray moth about the room, intent on various comforting offices, and when at last Sophie brought to her a steaming cup Diana said, "Do you know, Sophie, I've always thought myself a rather superior person."
"Well, you are," Sophie agreed.
"I'm not. Oh, I've made up my mind about things at last, and I know that it hasn't been Bettina's happiness, nor Anthony's happiness that I have been thinking about, but my own.
"If I had not stayed on after I found out the state of things here," she continued, "Anthony would have learned to care for Betty—every man loves youth and beauty——"
Sophie shook her head. "It takes us women all of our lives to learn that it is not for the red of our lips or the blue of our eyes that we are loved——"
"Oh, but you know it is the beautiful women who draw men——"
"But it is not the beautiful women who hold them. I'll set any demure little soul with a loving heart against all the faultlessly-regular -splendidly-null persons in the world when it comes to keeping the affections of a husband—and what has Bettina that she can give Anthony to take the place of the things which he has loved in you?"
"She has youth."
"How you harp on that string! You have a mind and soul which meets Anthony's. And your beauty equals hers. You must not forget that, Diana."
"I don't forget it. I know what I mean to Anthony. But Bettina will mean other things to him. And who shall say which of us would make the better wife?