possessors of the place, which had been an offence and a disfigurement.
In moving it out and replacing it, Diana felt that she had become the
spiritual child of the old house, in spite of her alien blood. There is
a kinship not of the flesh; and it thrilled all through her.

But just as her pause of daily homage to the place in which she found
herself was over, and she was about to run down the remaining stairs to
the dining-room, a new thought delayed her for a moment by the staircase
window--the thought of a lady who would no doubt be waiting for her at
the breakfast-table.

Mrs. Colwood, Miss Mallory's new chaperon and companion, had arrived the
night before, on Christmas Eve. She had appeared just in time for
dinner, and the two ladies had spent the evening together. Diana's first
impressions had been pleasant--yes, certainly, pleasant; though Mrs.
Colwood had been shy, and Diana still more so. There could be no
question but that Mrs. Colwood was refined, intelligent, and attractive.
Her gentle, almost childish looks appealed for her. So did her deep
black, and the story which explained it. Diana had heard of her from a
friend in Rome, where Mrs. Colwood's husband, a young Indian Civil
servant, had died of fever and lung mischief, on his way to England for
a long sick leave and where the little widow had touched the hearts of
all who came in contact with her.

Diana thought, with one of her ready compunctions, that she had not been
expansive enough the night before. She ran down-stairs, determined to
make Mrs. Colwood feel at home at once.

When she entered the dining-room the new companion was standing beside
the window looking out upon the formal garden and the lawn beyond it.