"Oh, I shouldn't," Diane broke in, with renewed eagerness to talk
against time. "It's like being content with words, and having no need of
music. It's like being satisfied with photographs, and never wanting
real pictures."

"Diane," Mrs. Eveleth interrupted, "I insist that you let me speak."

"Speak, petite mère? What are you doing but speaking now? I'm scarcely
saying a word. I'm too tired to talk. If you'd spent the last eight or
ten hours trying to get yourself down to the conversational level of
your partners, you'd know what I've been through. We women must be made
of steel to stand it. If you had only seen me this evening--"

"Listen to me, Diane; don't joke. This is no time for that."

"Joke! I never felt less like joking in my life, and--"

She broke off with a little hysterical gasp, so that Mrs. Eveleth got
another chance.

"I know you don't feel like joking, and still less do I. There's
something wrong."

"Is there? What?" Diane made an effort to recover herself. "I hope it
isn't indiscreet to ask, because I need the bracing effect of a little
scandal."

"Isn't it for you to tell me? You're concealing something of which--"