ny the lie. During the recital Mrs. Eveleth sat with clasped hands,
but with head sinking lower at each word. Once she murmured something
which only Miss Lucilla was near enough to hear:

"Then that's why they wouldn't let me look at him in his coffin."

"He did love me, didn't he?" Diane cried. "He was happy with me, wasn't
he, mother dear? He understood me, and upheld me, and defended me,
whatever I did. He didn't want to leave me. He knew I should never have
cared for the loss of the money--that we could have faced that
together. Tell them so, mother; tell them."

For the first time since he had known her Derek saw Diane forget her
reserve in eager pleading. She stepped forward from Miss Lucilla's
embrace, standing before Mrs. Eveleth with palms opened outward, in an
attitude of petition. The older woman did not raise her head nor speak.

"He was happy with me," Diane insisted. "I made him happy. I wasn't the
best wife he could have had, but he was satisfied with me as I was, in
spite of my imperfections. He was worried sometimes, especially
toward--toward the last; but he wasn't worried about me, was he, mother
dear?"

Still the mother did not speak nor raise her head. Diane took a step
nearer and began again.

"I didn't know we were living beyond our means. I didn't know what was
going on around me. I reproach myself for that. A wiser woman _would_
have known; but I was young, and foolish, and very, very happy. I didn't
know I was ruining George, though I'm ready to take all the
responsibility for it now. But he never blamed me, did he, mother?
never, by a word, never by a look. Oh, speak, and tell them!"

Her voice came out with a sharp note of anxiety, in which there was an
inflection almost of fear; but when she ceased there was silence.

"Petite mere," she cried, "aren't you going to say anything?"

The bowed head remained bowed; the only sign came from the trembling of
the extended hand, resting on the top of the stick.

"If you don't speak," Diane cried again, "they'll think it's because you
don't want to."

If there was a response to this, it was when the head bent lower.

"Mother," Diane cried, in alarm, "I've no one in the world to speak a
word for me but you. If you don't do it, they'll believe I drove George
to his death--they'll say I was such a woman that he killed himself
rather than live with me any longer."

Suddenly Mrs. Eveleth raised her head and looked round upon them all.
Then sh