Colwood.
Diana was still standing in a reverie before the "Annunciation" when the
drawing-room door opened. As she looked round her, she drew herself
sharply together with the movement of a sudden and instinctive
antipathy.
"That's all right," said Fanny Merton, surveying the room with
satisfaction, and closing the door behind her. "I thought I'd find
you alone."
Diana remained nervously standing before the picture, awaiting her
cousin, her eyes wider than usual, one hand at her throat.
"Look here," said Fanny, approaching her, "I want to talk to you."
Diana braced herself. "All right." She threw a look at the clock. "Just
give me time to get tidy before lunch."
"Oh, there's an hour--time enough!"
Diana drew forward an arm-chair for Fanny, and settled herself into the
corner of a sofa. Her dog jumped up beside her, and laid his nose on
her lap.
Fanny held herself straight. Her color under the powder had heightened a
little. The two girls confronted each other, and, vaguely, perhaps, each
felt the strangeness of the situation. Fanny was twenty, Diana
twenty-three. They were of an age when girls are generally under the
guidance or authority of their elders; comparatively little accustomed,
in the normal family, to discuss affairs or take independent decisions.
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