With the rush of new happiness had come back the old pity, the old yearning.

It wasn't, wasn't Fanny's fault! She--Diana--had always understood that Mr.Merton was a vulgar, grasping man of no breeding who had somehow entrapped "your aunt Bertha--who was very foolish and very young"-- into a most undesirable marriage.

As for Mrs.
Merton--Aunt Bertha--Fanny had with her many photographs, among them several of her mother.

A weak, heavy face, rather pretty still.

Diana had sought her own mother in it, with a passionate yet shrinking curiosity, only to provoke a rather curt reply from Fanny, in answer to a question she had, with difficulty, brought herself to put: "Not a bit! There wasn't a scrap of likeness between mother and Aunt Sparling." * * * * * The evening passed off better than the morning had done.