But there was more besides--miserably plain now to this trembling spectator.

The resentment of Diana's place in life, as of something robbed, not earned--the scarcely concealed claim either to share it or attack it--these things were no longer riddles to Muriel Colwood.

Rather they were the storm-signs of a coming tempest, already darkening above an innocent head.
What could she do?
The little lady gave her days and nights to the question, and saw no way out.

Sometimes she hoped that Diana's personality had made an impression on this sinister guest; she traced a grudging consciousness in Fanny of her cousin's generosity and charm.
But this perception only led to fresh despondency.

Whenever Fanny softened, it showed itself in a claim to intimacy, as sudden and as violent as her ill-temper.