It was plain the tale of the golden mask had startled her a little, for
she laid her hand impetuously upon his arm, and her eyes searched his
face with troubled intentness.
"It will all be very singular and daring," she faltered after a while.
"I had thought of something like it myself--to help her, I mean. You
are so--_different_, Carl! I know of no man who might dare so much and
win." Then with unconscious tribute to one whose opinion she valued
above all others, she added: "Philip trusts you utterly. He has said
so. And Philip knows!"
Carl glanced furtively at her face and cleared his throat.
"Diane," he asked gravely, "I wonder how much that incredible tale of
the old candlestick pleased you?"
"I don't know," said Diane honestly. "I wish I did. I've wondered and
wondered. No matter how hard I think, it doesn't somehow come right.
It's like shattering a cherished crystal into fragments to think that
every tie of blood and country I valued is meaningless--that every
memory is a mockery--that grandfather and you and Aunt Agatha--" she
paused and sighed. "When I try to realize," she finished, "I feel very
lonely and afraid."
"And Philip?" hinted Carl.
"I don't think he is pleased."
"You're right," said Carl with decision.
Pages:
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349