Shaking pitifully, she fell forward unconscious upon the ground.
Some one was calling. There was rain and a lantern.
Diane stirred.
"Diane! Diane!" called the voice of Philip.
At the memory of Philip and Arcadia, Diane choked and lay very still.
"Diane!" The lantern shone now in her face and Philip was kneeling
beside her, his face whiter than her own.
"Great God!" said Philip and stared into her haunted eyes with infinite
compassion.
But Philip, as he frequently said, was preeminently a "practician,"
wherefore he gently covered the girl with his coat, busied himself with
the lantern and, for various reasons, sought to create a general
atmosphere of commonplace reality.
"Your aunt sent me," he said at length. "She's awfully upset."
"She told you?"
"Yes."
"Of--of the Indian mother?"
"I knew," said Philip. "Carl told me. I withheld it this morning
purposely. Why fuss about it, Diane? Lord Almighty!" added this
exceedingly practical and democratic young man, "I shouldn't worry
myself if my grandfather was a salamander! . . . And, besides, your
true Indian is an awfully good sport. He's proud and fearless and
inherently truthful--"
"I know," said Diane. "It isn't that I mind--so much. It--it's the
other.
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