Diana shrank into
herself. She ran up-stairs noiselessly to her sitting-room, and opened
the door as quietly as possible.
"Muriel!"
The voice was almost a whisper. Mrs. Colwood did not hear it. She was
bending over the fire, with her back to the door, and a reading-lamp
beside her. To her amazement, Diana heard a sob, a sound of stifled
grief, which struck a sudden chill through her own excitement. She
paused a moment, and repeated her friend's name. Mrs. Colwood started.
She hastily rose, turning her face from Diana.
"Is that you? I thought you were still out."
Diana crossed the floor, and put her arm round the little gentle woman,
whose breath was still shaken by the quiet sobs she was trying
desperately to repress.
"Muriel, dear!--what is it?"
Mrs. Colwood found her voice, and her composure.
"Nothing! I was foolish--it doesn't matter."
Diana was sure she understood. She was suddenly ashamed to bring her own
happiness into this desolate and widowed presence, and the kisses with
which, mutely, she tried to comfort her friend, were almost a plea to
be forgiven.
But Muriel drew herself away. She looked searchingly, with recovered
self-command, into Diana's face.
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