There were still some books to unpack.  Presently Mrs. Colwood found herself helping to carry a small but heavy box of papers to the sitting-room which Diana had arranged for herself next to her bedroom.  Mrs. Colwood noticed that before Diana asked her assistance she dismissed her new maid, who had been till then actively engaged in the unpacking.  Miss Mallory herself unlocked the trunk in which the despatch-box had arrived, and took it out.  The box had an old green baize covering which was much frayed and worn.  Diana placed it on the floor of her bedroom, where Mrs. Colwood had been helping her in various unpackings, and went away for a minute to clear a space for it in the locked wall-cupboard to which it was to be consigned.  Her companion, left alone, happened to see that an old mended tear in the green baize had given way in Diana’s handling of the box, and quite involuntarily her eyes caught a brass plate on the morocco lid, which bore the words, “Sparling papers.”  Diana came back at the moment, and perceived the uncovered label.  She flushed a little, hesitated, and then said, looking first at the label and then at Mrs. Colwood:  “I think I should like you to know—­my name was not always Mallory.  We were Sparlings—­but my father took the name of Mallory after my mother’s death.  It was his mother’s name, and there was an old Mallory uncle who left him a property.  I believe he was glad to change his name.  He never spoke to me of any Sparling relations.  He was an only child, and I always suppose his father must have been very unkind to him—­and that they quarrelled.  At any rate, he quite dropped the name, and never would let me speak of it.  My mother had hardly any relations either—­only one sister who married and went to Barbadoes.  So our old name was very soon forgotten.  And please”—­she looked up appealingly—­“now that I have told you, will you forget it too?  It always seemed to hurt papa to hear it, and I never could bear to do—­or say—­anything that gave him pain.”

She spoke with a sweet seriousness.  Mrs. Colwood, who had been conscious of a slight shock of puzzled recollection, gave an answer which evidently pleased Diana, for the girl held out her hand and pressed that of her companion; then they carried the box to its place, and were leaving the room, when suddenly Diana, with a joyous exclamation, pounced on a book which was lying on the floor, tumbled among a dozen others recently unpacked.

“Mr. Marsham’s Rossetti!  I am glad.  Now I can face him!”

She looked up all smiles.

“Do you know that I am going to take you to a party next week?—­to the Marshams?  They live near here—­at Tallyn Hall.  They have asked us for two nights—­Thursday to Saturday.  I hope you won’t mind.”

“Have I got a dress?” said Mrs. Colwood, anxiously.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter!—­not at the Marshams.  I am glad!” repeated Diana, fondling the book—­“If I really had lost it, it would have given him a horrid advantage!”