nd for an indefinite period, by a young lady with the
handwriting of a scullery-maid, she kept it entirely hidden.

Diana talked herself into the most rose-colored plans for Fanny Merton's
benefit--so voluminous, indeed, that Mrs. Colwood had to leave her in
the middle of them that she might go up-stairs and mend a rent in her
walking-dress. Diana was left alone in the drawing-room, still smiling
and dreaming. In her impulsive generosity she saw herself as the earthly
providence of her cousin, sharing with a dear kinswoman her own unjustly
plentiful well-being.

Then she took up the letter again. It ran thus:

"My dear Diana,--You mustn't think it cheeky my calling you
that, but I am your real cousin, and mother told me to write
to you. I hope too you won't be ashamed of us though we are
poor. Everybody knows us in Barbadoes, though of course
that's not London. I am the eldest of the family, and I got
very tired of living all in a pie, and so I've come home to
England to better myself.--A year ago I was engaged to be
married, but the young man behaved badly. A good riddance,
all my friends told me--but it wasn't a pleasant experience.
Anyway now I want to earn some money, and see the world a
little. I have got rather a good voice, and I am considered
handsome--at least smart-looking. If you are not too grand to
invite me to your place, I should like to come and see you,
but of course you must do as you please. I got your address
from the bank Uncle Mallory used to send us checks on. I can
tell you we have missed those checks pretty badly this last
year. I hope you have now got over your great sorrow.--This
boarding-house is horribly poky but cheap, which is the great
thing. I arrived the night before last,

"And I am
Your affectionate cousin
FANNY MERTON."

No, it really was not an attractive letter. On the second reading, Diana
pushed it away from her, rather hastily. Then she reminded herself
again, elaborately, of the Mertons' disadvantages in life, painting them
in imagination as black as possible. And before she had gone far with
this process all doubt and distaste were once more swept away by the
rush of yearning, of an interest she could not subdue, in this being of
her own flesh and blood, the child of her mother's sister. She sat with
flushed cheeks, absorbed in a stream of thoughts and