Fotheringham listened to her with flashing looks, and suddenly she
broke into a denunciation of war, the military spirit, and the ignorant
and unscrupulous persons at home, especially women, who aid and abet
politicians in violence and iniquity, the passion of which soon struck
Diana dumb. Here was no honorable fight of equal minds. She was being
punished for her advocacy of the night before, by an older woman of
tyrannical temper, toward whom she stood in the relation of guest to
host. It was in vain to look round for defenders. The only man present
was Mr. Barton, who sat listening with ill-concealed smiles to what was
going on, without taking part in it.
Diana extricated herself with as much dignity as she could muster, but
she was too young to take the matter philosophically. She went up-stairs
burning with anger, the tears of hurt feeling in her eyes. It seemed to
her that Mrs. Fotheringham's attack implied a personal dislike; Mr.
Marsham's sister had been glad to "take it out of her." To this young
cherished creature it was almost her first experience of the kind.
On the way up-stairs she paused to look wistfully out of a staircase
window.
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