Diana. Warner Susan

or rather regret the want of them, with a sharp, sore point of regret. Even though it would have made no difference.

      Picking and thinking and fancying herself safe, Diana made a plunge to get through an uncommonly tangled thicket of interlacing branches, and found herself no longer alone. Miss Gunn was three feet off, squatting on the ground to pick the more restfully; and on the other side of her was Diana's cousin, Nick Boddington.

      "Hullo, Di!" was his salutation, "where have you left my wife and the rest of the folks?"

      "I don't know, Nick; I haven't left them at all."

      "What did you come here for, then?"

      "What did you?"

      "I declare! I came to have the better chance, me and Miss Gunn; I thought where nobody was, I'd have it all to myself. I'll engage you are disappointed to find us – now, ain't you?"

      "The field is big enough, cousin Nick."

      "Don't know about that. What is become of your fine people?"

      "I haven't any fine people."

      "What's become o' them you had, then? You brought 'em here; have you deserted 'em?"

      "I came to do work, Nick; and I'm doing it."

      "What did they come for? have you any guess? 'Tain't likely they come to pick blackberries."

      "I told Mis' Reverdy," said Miss Gunn smotheredly from the depths of a blackberry bush and her sun-bonnet, "that we'd have plenty for ourselves and Elmfield too to-morrow. I will, I guess."

      "They'll want 'em, Miss Gunn," said Mr. Boddington. "They'll not carry home a pint, you may depend. Di, did they come after you, or you come after them, this morning?"

      Diana answered something, she hardly knew what, and made a plunge through the bushes in another direction. Anything to get out of this neighbourhood. She went on eagerly, through thicket after thicket, till she supposed she was safe. And as she stopped, Mr. Knowlton came round from the other side of the bush. The thrill of pain and pleasure that went through the girl gave no outward sign.

      "Met again," said the gentleman. "What has become of you? I have lost sight of you since dinner."

      "One can't see far through these bushes," said Diana.

      "No. What a thicket it is! But at the same time, people can hear; and you never know who may be a few feet off. Does anybody ever come here, I wonder, when we are gone? or is this wild fruitful hill bearing its harvest for us alone?"

      "Other parties come, I daresay," said Diana.

      She was picking diligently, and Mr. Knowlton set himself to help her. The berries were very big and ripe here; for a few minutes the two hands were silently busy gathering and dropping them into Diana's pail; then Mr. Knowlton took the burden of that into his own hand. Diana was not very willing, but he would have it.

      "One would think blackberries were an important concern of life," he said presently, "by the way you work."

      "I am sure, you are working too," said Diana.

      "Ah, but I supposed you knew what it is all for. Now I have not the faintest idea. I know what I am after, of course; but what you are after is a puzzle to me."

      "Things are very often a puzzle to me," said Diana vaguely; and having for some reason or other a good deal of difficulty in commanding herself.

      "Aren't you tired?"

      "No – I don't know," said Diana. "It does not signify."

      "I don't believe you care, any more than a soldier, what you find in your way. Do you know, you said something, up yonder at the camp fire, which has been running in my head ever since? I wish you would explain it."

      "I?" said Diana. "I said something? What?"

      "I told you what I wanted, – and you said you had no doubt I could get it."

      "I have no recollection of one thing or the other, Mr. Knowlton. I think you must have been speaking to somebody else at the time – not me. If you please, I will try the bushes that way; I think somebody has been in this place."

      "Don't you remember my telling you I always want the best of everything?" he said as he followed her; and Diana went too fast for him to hold the briary branches out of her way.

      "There are so many other people who are of that mind, Mr. Knowlton!" —

      "Not yourself?"

      "I want the best berries," said Diana, stopping before a cluster of bushes heavily laden.

      "How about other things?"

      Diana felt a pang at her heart, an odd desire to make some wild answer.

      But nothing could be cooler than what she said.

      "I take them as I find them, Mr. Knowlton."

      He was helping her now again.

      "What did you suppose I was thinking of, when I told you I wanted the best I could have?"

      "I had no right to suppose anything. No doubt it is true of all sorts of things."

      "But I was thinking of one– did you guess what?"

      Diana hesitated. "I don't know, Mr. Knowlton, – I might guess wrong."

      "Then what made you say, 'no doubt' I could have it?"

      "I don't know, Mr. Knowlton," said Diana, feeling irritated and worried almost past her power to bear. "Don't you always have what you want?"

      "Do you think I can?" he said eagerly.

      "I fancy you do."

      "What did you think I meant by the 'best' thing, then? Tell me – do tell me?"

      "I thought you meant Miss Gertrude Masters," Diana said, fairly brought to bay.

      "You did! And what did you think I thought of Miss Diana Starling?"

      He had stopped picking blackberries now, and was putting his questions short and keenly. Diana's power of answering had come to an end.

      "Hey!" said he, drawing her hand from the bush and stopping her work; "what did you think I thought of her?– I have walked with her, and driven with her, and talked with her, in the house and out of the house, now all summer long; I have seen what she is like at home and abroad; what do you think I think of her?"

      Baskets and berries had, figuratively, fallen to the ground; literally too, in Mr. Knowlton's case, for certainly both his hands were free, and had been employed while these words were spoken in gently and slowly gathering Diana into close bondage. There she stood now, hardly daring to look up; yet the tone of his questions had found its way to her inmost heart. She could not refuse one look, which they asked for. It gave her what she never forgot to her latest day.

      "Does she know now?" he went on in a tone of mixed tenderness and triumph, like the expression of his face. "My lily! – my Camellia flower! – my sweet Magnolia! – whatever there is most rare, and good, and perfect. My best of all things. Can I have the best, Di?"

      Miss Gertrude Masters would have been equal to the situation, and doubtless would have met it with great equanimity; Diana was unused to most of the world's ways, and very new to this. She stood in quiet dignity, indeed; but the stains of crimson on cheek and brow flushed and paled like the lights of a sunset. All at the bottom of her deep sun-bonnet; was Mr. Knowlton to blame if he gently pushed it back and insinuated it off, till he had a full view?

      "You know what is my 'best' now," he said. "Can I have it, Diana?"

      She tried to break away from him, and on her lip there broke that beautiful smile of hers; withal a little tremulous just then. It is rare on a grown woman's lip, a smile so very guileless and free; mostly it belongs to children. Yet not this smile, either.

      "I should think you must know by this time," she whispered.

      I suppose he did; for he put no more questions for a minute or two.

      "There's one more thing," he said. "Now you know what I think of you; what do you think of me, Diana?"

      "I