Lydia Vrain is not the doll you think her to be; she is a false, cruel, clever adventuress, and I hate her--I hate her with all my heart and soul!" This feminine outburst of anger rather bewildered Denzil, who saw very plainly that Diana was by no means the lofty angel he had taken her to be in the first appreciation of her beauty.

But her passion of the moment suited so well with her stately looks that she seemed rather a Margaret of Anjou defying York and his faction than an injured woman concerned with so slight a thing as the rebuke of one of her own sex for whom she had little love.

Diana saw the surprise expressed on Lucian's face, and her own flushed a little with annoyance that she should have betrayed her feelings so openly.

With a vexed laugh, she recovered her temper and composed demeanour.
"You see I am no saint, Mr.Denzil," she said, resuming her seat, for in her anger she had risen to her feet.

"But even if I were one, I could not have restrained myself from speaking as I did.