Then Bettina came out with the little nosegay of white lilacs.
"You were going away without it," she said reproachfully to the doctor, who was half-way down the stairway.
"Throw it to me and I'll catch it," he called.
But she ran after him and pinned it on and dropped a hasty kiss in the midst of its fragrance, and ran up again, blushing.
And Diana watched the little scene from the top of the stairs and wondered if she had overestimated her own power to endure.
The two women, standing at the window high up in the hallway, saw the doctor depart, then Diana said, suddenly, "Betty, dear, must you wear black?"
The girl's lip trembled.
"But—mother——"
"I know. But, dearie, it wouldn't make her any happier to see you so somber. And there's white for you, and all the pale, pretty tints, and you wouldn't be too gay, nor sadden others."
"But your friend, Mrs. Martens," said Bettina, eagerly; "Anthony pointed her out to me this afternoon—she passed here on her way to the post-office, and she was in deep mourning——"