Sainte-Clotilde. It was her first realizing glimpse of the outside
world since that gray morning when she had driven home alone, and the
very fact that it could be pursuing its round indifferent to her
calamity impelled her to turn her gaze away.

It was then that she had time to note the changes wrought in Mrs.
Eveleth; and it was like finding winter where she expected no more than
the first genial touch of autumn. The softnesses of lingering youth had
disappeared, stricken out by the hard, straight lines of gravity. Never
having known her mother-in-law as other than a woman of fashion, Diane
was awed by this dignified, sorrowing matron, who carried the sword of
motherhood in her heart.

It was a long time before Mrs. Eveleth laid her pencil down and raised
her head. For a few minutes neither had the power of words, but it was
Diane who spoke at last.

"I can understand," she faltered, "that you don't want to see me; but
I've come to tell you that I'm going away."

"You're going away? Where?"

The words were spoken gently and as if in some absence of mind. As a
matter of fact, Mrs. Eveleth was scarcely thinking of Diane's words--she
was so intent on the poor little, tear-worn face before her. She had
always known that Diane's attractions were those of coloring and
vivacity, and now that she had lost these she was like an extinguished
lamp.

"I haven't made up my mind yet," Diane replied, "but I want you to know
that you'll be freed from my presence."

"What makes you think I want to be--freed?"

"You must know that I killed George. You said that night that his blood
would be on my head--and it is."

"If I said that, I spoke under the stress of terror and excitement--"

"You needn't try to take back the words; they were quite true."

"True in what sense?"

"In almost every sense; certainly in every sense that's vital. If it
hadn't been for me, George would be here now."

"It's never wise to speculate on what might have happened if it hadn't
been for us. There's no end to the useless torture we can inflict on
ourselves in that way."

"I don't think there ought to be an end to it."

"Have you anything in particular to reproach yourself with?"

"I've everything."

"That means, then, that there's no one incident--or person--I didn't
know but--" She hesitated, and Diane took up the sentence.

"You didn't know but what I had given George specific reason for his
act. I may as well tell you that I never d