Anthony.
The letter dropped from her fingers. She hid her face in her hands. His call echoed thunderingly in her ears. But she must not listen; she must not.
She yielded for the moment, however, to the sweetness of his insistent demand. Curled up in the warm little hollow she dreamed of the things which might be—putting off, as long as possible, the moment of decision.
The other letters lay unheeded at her feet. All friendship seemed futile at such a time. What could Sophie, or Bettina or Justin say which could match those burning words of her lover?
The sun, rising higher, filtered through the branches and fell like golden rain upon the surface of the pool—the purple shadows gave way to emerald vistas; a trail of honey-bees traveled unerringly toward a hidden honey store. It was high noon in the forest!
Diana, waking to the fact that the hours had flown, gathered up her other letters, and opened the one on top of the pile. It was Justin's. What could he have to say to her, this boy who lived his life so lightly?
But when she had read the scrawled words she sat staring at them, hardly believing the things which had been written.
"Dear Lady:
"Betty Dolce told me last night of her engagement to Anthony. But it was too late. You see it has come to this: that there isn't any one in the world for me but Betty—she's so little and young and sweet, and she has waked up the man in me, and that's what no other girl has ever done.