Bettina, who was making a tiny white nosegay of lilacs to pin on Anthony's coat, turned to them a sparkling countenance.
"Me—does it matter? Does anything matter except that I am going to marry you, Anthony?"
She held out her hands to him, laughing over her shoulder at Diana. With her flower face, her hair of gold, her figure slim and swaying like a lily on its stem, she was radiantly, almost impertinently young, and, with a sudden sense of age and weariness, Diana buried her face in the lilacs to hide a whiteness which matched their own.
But she had not been quick enough to escape the keen eyes of Anthony.
He dropped Bettina's hands. "I'll stop to-morrow morning, child, on my way to the sanatorium, and take you over."
"And dine with us later," said Diana. "I'm going to have a lot of people. It will be a sort of impromptu housewarming. I've telephoned about a dozen old friends."
"But I haven't anything to wear." Bettina was again in a panic.
"You'll have about twelve hours to get ready," Diana comforted; "we can do a lot in that time."
But her mind was not on clothes, for she followed the doctor out into the hall to say, "She's just sweet, Anthony——"
"Don't," suddenly all the calm of his fine face was broken up, "don't, Diana——"