after all, are what the politician who is already provided with money, wants to secure in his wife; without, of course, any obvious disqualification in the way of family history.  Diana, as he had first met her among the woods at Portofino, side by side with her dignified and gentlemanly father, had made upon him precisely that impression of personal distinction of which he was in search—­upon his mother also.

The appearance and the accent, however, of the cousin had struck him with surprise; nor was it till he was nearing Tallyn that he succeeded in shaking off the impression.  Absurd!  Everybody has some relations that require to be masked—­like the stables, or the back door—­in a skilful arrangement of life.  Diana, his beautiful, unapproachable Diana, would soon, no doubt, be relieved of this young lady, with whom she could have no possible interests in common.  And, perhaps, on one of his week-end visits to Tallyn and Beechcote, he might get a few minutes’ conversation with Mrs. Colwood which would throw some light on the new guest.

* * * * *

Diana meanwhile, assisted by Mrs. Colwood, was hovering about her cousin.  She and Miss Merton had kissed each other in the hall, and then Diana, seized with a sudden shyness, led her guest into the drawing-room and stood there speechless, a little; holding her by both hands and gazing at her; mastered by feeling and excitement.

“Well, you have got a queer old place!” said Fanny Merton, withdrawing herself.  She turned and looked about her, at the room, the flowers, the wide hearth, with its blazing logs, at Mrs. Colwood, and finally at Diana.

“We are so fond of it already!” said Diana.  “Come and get warm.”  She settled her guest in a chair by the fire, and took a stool beside her.  “Did you like Devonshire?”

The girl made a little face.

“It was awfully quiet.  Oh, my friends, of course, made a lot of fuss over me—­and that kind of thing.  But I wouldn’t live there, not if you paid me.”

“We’re very quiet here,” said Diana, timidly.  She was examining the face beside her, with its bright crude color, its bold eyes, and sulky mouth, slightly underhung.

“Oh, well, you’ve got some good families about, I guess.  I saw one or two awfully smart carriages waiting at the station.”

“There are a good many nice people,” murmured Diana.  “But there is not much going on.”

“I expect you could invite a good many here if you wanted,” said the girl, once more looking round her.  “Whatever made you take this place?”

“I like old things so much,” laughed Diana.  “Don’t you?”

“Well, I don’t know.  I think there’s more style about a new house.  You can have electric light and all that sort of thing.”

Diana admitted it, and changed the subject.  “Had the journey been cold?”

Freezing, said Miss Merton.  But a young man had lent her his fur coat to put over her knees, which had improved matters.  She laughed—­rather consciously.