Ferrier, but that Mrs. Fotheringham had
persuaded him to remain for the night. His presence seemed to make
dancing a misdemeanor, and the rich house, with its services and
appurtenances, an organized crime. But if his personality was the
storm-point of the scene, charged with potential lightning, Marion
Vincent's was the still small voice, without threat or bitterness, which
every now and then spoke to a quick imagination like Diana's its message
from a world of poverty and pain. And sometimes Diana had been startled
by the perception that the message seemed to be specially for her. Miss
Vincent's eyes followed her; whenever Diana passed near her, she
smiled--she admired. But always, as it seemed to Diana, with a meaning
behind the smile. Yet what that meaning might be the girl could
not tell.
At last, as she watched her, Marion Vincent looked up.
"Mr. Barton would talk to me just now about the history of his own life.
I suppose it was the dance and the supper excited him. He began to
testify! Sometimes when he does that he is magnificent. He said some
fine things to-night. But I am run down and couldn't stand it."
Diana asked if Mr.
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