The Testing of Diana Mallory | Page 7

home that afternoon if he called, and Diana absently said yes.
"What a strange impracticable man!" cried Miss Mallory hotly, as the
ladies turned into the Beechcote drive. "It is really a misfortune to find
a man of such opinions in this place."
"The Vicar?" said Mrs. Colwood, bewildered
"A Little Englander!--a socialist! And so rude too! I asked him to let
me help him with, his poor--and he threw back my offers in my face.
What they wanted, he said, was not charity, but justice. And justice
apparently means cutting up the property of the rich, and giving it to
the poor. Is it my fault if the Vavasours neglected their cottages? I just
mentioned emigration, and he foamed! I am sure he would give away
the Colonies for a pinch of soap, and abolish the Army and Navy
to-morrow."
Diana's face glowed with indignation--with wounded feeling besides.
Mrs. Colwood endeavored to soothe her, but she remained grave and
rather silent for some time. The flow of Christmas feeling and romantic
pleasure had been arrested, and the memory of a harsh personality

haunted the day. In the afternoon, however, in the unpacking of various
pretty knick-knacks, and in the putting away of books and papers,
Diana recovered herself. She flitted about the house, arranging her
favorite books, hanging pictures, and disposing embroideries. The old
walls glowed afresh under her hand, and from the combination of their
antique beauty with her young taste, a home began to emerge, stamped
with a woman's character and reflecting her enthusiasms. As she
assisted in the task, Mrs. Colwood learned many things. She gathered
that Miss Mallory read two or three languages, that she was
passionately fond of French memoirs and the French classics, that her
father had taught her Latin and German, and guided every phase of her
education. Traces indeed of his poetic and scholarly temper were
visible throughout his daughter's possessions--so plainly, that at last as
they came nearly to the end of the books, Diana's gayety once more
disappeared. She moved soberly and dreamily, as though the past
returned upon her; and once or twice Mrs. Colwood came upon her
standing motionless, her finger in an open book, her eyes wandering
absently through the casement windows to the distant wall of hill.
Sometimes, as she bent over the books and packets she would say little
things, or quote stories of her father, which seemed to show a pretty
wish on her part to make the lady who was now to be her companion
understand something of the feelings and memories on which her life
was based. But there was dignity in it all, and, besides, a fundamental
awe and reserve. Mrs. Colwood seemed to see that there were
remembrances connected with her father far too poignant to be touched
in speech.
At tea-time Captain Roughsedge appeared. Mrs. Colwood's first
impression of his good manners and good looks was confirmed. But his
conversation could not be said to flow: and in endeavoring to entertain
him the two ladies fought a rather uphill fight. Then Diana discovered
that he belonged to the Sixtieth Rifles, whereupon the young lady
disclosed a knowledge of the British Army, and its organization, which
struck her visitor as nothing short of astounding. He listened to her
open-mouthed while she rattled on, mainly to fill up the gaps in his
own remarks; and when she paused, he bluntly complimented her on
her information. "Oh, that was papa!" said Diana, with a smile and a

sigh. "He taught me all he could about the Army, though he himself
had only been a Volunteer. There was an old History of the British
Army I was brought up on. It was useful when we went to
India--because I knew so much about the regiments we came across."
This accomplishment of hers proved indeed a god-send; the young man
found his tongue; and the visit ended much better than it began.
As he said good-bye, he looked, round the drawing-room in
wonderment.
"How you've altered it! The Vavasours made it hideous. But I've only
been in this room twice before, though my people have lived here thirty
years. We were never smart enough for Lady Emily."
He colored as he spoke, and Diana suspected in him a memory of small
past humiliations. Evidently he was sensitive as well as shy.
"Hard work--dear young man!" she said, with a smile, and a stretch, as
the door closed upon him. "But after all--'que j'aime le militaire'! Now,
shall we go back to work?"
There were still some books to unpack. Presently Mrs. Colwood found
herself helping to carry a small but heavy box of papers to the
sitting-room which Diana had arranged for herself next to her bedroom.
Mrs. Colwood noticed that before Diana asked her