* * * * *
Meanwhile Diana's golden hour had found an unexpected epilogue. After
her good-night to Marsham she was walking along the gallery corridor
going toward her room, when she perceived Miss Vincent in front of her
moving slowly and, as it seemed, with difficulty. A sudden impulse made
Diana fly after her.
"Do let me help you!" she said, shyly.
Marion Vincent smiled, and put her hand in the girl's arm.
"How do people manage to live at all in these big houses, and with
dinner-parties every night!" she said, laughing. "After a day in the
East End I am never half so tired."
She was indeed so pale that Diana was rather frightened, and remembering
that in the afternoon she had seen Miss Vincent descend from an upper
floor, she offered a rest in her own room, which was close by, before
the evidently lame woman attempted further stairs.
Marion Vincent hesitated a moment, then accepted. Diana hurried up a
chair to the fire, installed her there, and herself sat on the floor
watching her guest with some anxiety.
Yet, as she did so, she felt a certain antagonism. The face, of which
the eyes were now closed, was nobly grave.
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