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.
Her attitude was a little drooping, and as she turned to greet her hostess and employer, Diana's quick eyes seemed to perceive a trace of recent tears on the small face.