ng foliage was deep and bright
and glittering to-day as ever it was. Just the same! and a human life
could have all sweet scents and bright tints and glad sounds fall out
of it, and not to come back! There is nothing but duty left, thought
Diana; and duty with all the sap gone out of it. Duty was left a dry
tree; and more, a tree so full of thorns that she could not touch it
without being stung and pierced. Yet even so; to this stake of duty she
was bound.

Diana sat cheerlessly gazing out into the June sunlight, which laughed
at her with no power to gain a smile in return; when a step came along
the narrow entry, and the doorway was filled with Mrs. Starling's
presence. Mother and daughter looked at each other in a peculiar way
they had now; Diana's face cold, Mrs. Starling's face hard.

"Well!" said the latter,--"how are you getting along?"

"You see, I am down-stairs."

"I see you're doing nothing."

"Mr. Masters wont let me."

"Humph! When _I_ had a baby four weeks old, I had my own way. And so
would you, if you wanted to have it."

"My husband will not let me have it."

"That's fool's nonsense, Diana. If you are the girl I take you for, you
can do whatever you like with your husband. No man that ever lived
would make _me_ sit with my hands before me. Who's got the baby?"

"Jemima."

"How's Jemima to do her work and your work too? She can't do it."

"No, but Mr. Masters is going to get another person to help take care
of baby."

"A nurse!" cried Mrs. Starling aghast.

"No, not exactly; but somebody to help me."

"Are you turned weak and sickly, Diana?"

"No, mother."

"Then you don't want another girl, any more than a frog wants an
umbrella. Put your baby in the crib and teach her to lie there, when
you are busy. That's the way you were brought up."

"You must talk to Mr. Masters, mother."

"I don't want to talk to Mr. Masters--I've got something else to do.
But you can talk to him, Diana, and he'll do what you say."

"It's the other way, mother. I must do what he says." Diana's tone was
peculiar.

"Then you're turned soft."

"I think I am turned hard."

"Your husband is easy to manage--for you."

"Is he?" said Diana. "I am glad it isn't true. I despise men that are
easy to manage. I am glad I can respect him, at any rate."

Mrs. Starling looked at her daughter with an odd expression. It was
curious and uncertain; but she asked no question. She seemed to change
the subject; though pe