Courtlaw sat with folded arms. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. I set myself to find employment. She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. Diane Vorsack was a disaster waiting for a place to happen, with a heartily established dislike for the Beck clan. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful.
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