quickened every sense of life. Adorable as she was to her friend Emma
at all times, she that day struck a new fountain in memory. And it was
pleasant to see the great lord's admiration of this wonder. One could
firmly believe in their friendship, and his winning ideas from the
abounding bubbling well. A recurrent smile beamed on his face when
hearing and observing her. Certain dishes provided at the table were
Diana's favourites, and he relished them, asking for a second help,
and remarking that her taste was good in that as in all things. They
lunched, eating like boys. They walked over the grounds of Copsley, and
into the lanes and across the meadows of the cowslip, rattling, chatting,
enlivening the frosty air, happy as children biting to the juices of ripe
apples off the tree. But Tony was the tree, the dispenser of the rosy
gifts. She had a moment of reflection, only a moment, and Emma felt the
pause as though a cloud had shadowed them and a spirit had been shut
away. Both spoke of their happiness at the kiss of parting. That
melancholy note at the top of the wave to human hearts conscious of its
enforced decline was repeated by them, and Diana's eyelids blinked to
dismiss a tear.

'You have no troubles?' Emma said.

'Only the pain of the good-bye to my beloved,' said Diana. 'I have
never been happier--never shall be! Now you know him you think with me?
I knew you would. You have seen him as he always is--except when he is
armed for battle. He is the kindest of souls. And soul I say. He is
the one man among men who gives me notions of a soul in men.'

The eulogy was exalted. Lady Dunstane made a little mouth for Oh, in
correction of the transcendental touch, though she remembered their
foregone conversations upon men--strange beings that they are!--and