Barton had himself gone through a great struggle with
poverty.
"The usual struggle. No more than thousands of others. Only in him it is
vocal--he can reflect upon it.--You had an easy triumph over him last
night," she added, with a smile, turning to her companion.
"Who wouldn't have?" cried Diana. "What outrageous things he said!"
"He doesn't know much about India--or the Colonies. He hasn't travelled;
he reads very little. He showed badly. But on his own subjects he is
good enough. I have known him impress or convert the most unlikely
people--by nothing but a bare sincerity. Just now--while the servants
were handing champagne--he and I were standing a little way off under
the gallery. His eyes are weak, and he can't bear the glare of all these
lights. Suddenly he told me the story of his father's death."
She paused, and drew her hand across her eyes. Diana saw that they were
wet. But although startled, the girl held herself a little aloof and
erect, as though ready at a moment's notice to defend herself against a
softening which might involve a treachery to glorious and sacred things.
"It so chanced"--Miss Vincent resumed--"that it had a bearing on
experiences of my own--just now.
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