hear from her
friend, and the days went by; she could only sorrow for her poor Tony,
divining her state. However little of wrong in the circumstances,
they imposed a silence on her decent mind, and no conceivable shape of
writing would transmit condolences. She waited, with a dull heartache:
by no means grieving at Dacier's engagement to the heiress; until
Redworth animated her, as the bearer of rather startling intelligence,
indirectly relating to the soul she loved. An accident in the street had
befallen Mr. Warwick. Redworth wanted to know whether Diana should be
told of it, though he had no particulars to give; and somewhat to
his disappointment, Lady Dunstane said she would write. She delayed,
thinking the accident might not be serious; and the information of it to
Diana surely would be so. Next day at noon her visitor was Lady Wathin,
evidently perturbed and anxious to say more than she dared: but she
received no assistance. After beating the air in every direction,
especially dwelling on the fond reciprocal affection of the two devoted
lovers, to be united within three days' time, Lady Wathin said at last:
'And is it not shocking! I talk of a marriage and am appalled by a
death. That poor man died last night in the hospital. I mean poor Mr.
Warwick. He was recovering, getting strong and well, and he was knocked
down at a street-crossing and died last night. It is a warning to us!'

'Mr. Redworth happened to hear of it at his Club, near which the
accident occurred, and he called at the hospital. Mr. Warwick was then
alive,' said Lady Dunstane; adding: 'Well, if prevention is better than
cure, as we hear! Accidents are the specific for averting the maladies
of age, which are a certain crop!'

Lady Wathin's eyelids worked and her lips shut fast at the cold-hearted
remark void of meaning.

She sighed. 'So ends a life of misery, my dear!'

'You are compassionate.'

'I hope so. But... Indeed I must speak, if you will let me. I think of
the living.'

Lady Dunstane widened her eyes. 'Of Mrs. Warwick?'

'She has now the freedom she desired. I think of others. Forgive me, but
Constance Asper is to me as a daughter. I have perhaps no grounds
for any apprehension. Love so ardent, so sincere, was never shown by
bridegroom elect: and it is not extraordinary to those acquainted
with dear Constance. But--one may be a worshipped saint and experience
defection. The terrible stories one hears of a power of fascination
almo