So I waited there in
the darkness with patience born of many hours of like duty.
Presently the small lamp was lit--I could tell the difference in light
when the big one was burning--and I heard the swish of skirts.
"Something's happened, surely, Sally," I heard Miss Sampson say
anxiously. "Papa just met me in the hall and didn't speak. He seemed
pale, worried."
"Cousin George looked like a thundercloud," said Sally. "For once, he
didn't try to kiss me. Something's happened. Well, Diane, this has been
a bad day for me, too."
Plainly I heard Sally's sigh, and the little pathetic sound brought me
vividly out of my sordid business of suspicion and speculation. So she
was sorry.
"Bad for you, too?" replied Diane in amused surprise. "Oh, I see--I
forgot. You and Russ had it out."
"Out? We fought like the very old deuce. I'll never speak to him again."
"So your little--affair with Russ is all over?"
"Yes." Here she sighed again.
"Well, Sally, it began swiftly and it's just as well short," said Diane
earnestly. "We know nothing at all of Russ."
"Diane, after to-day I respect him in--in spite of things--even though
he seems no good. I--I cared a lot, too."
"My dear, your loves are like the summer flowers.
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