There was the Prince, sure enough--a pleasant, blue-eyed young man.

And there was the Count, bearing visible evidence of duels a-plenty in earlier days.
And there was Diantha Bell--receiving, with Mrs.Porne and Mrs.
Weatherstone.

All Orchardina stared.

Diantha had been at the dinner--that was clear.

And now she stood there in her soft, dark evening dress, the knot of golden acacias nestling against the black lace at her bosom, looking as fair and sweet as if she had never had a care in her life.
Her mother thought her the most beautiful thing she had ever seen; and her father, though somewhat critical, secretly thought so, too.
Mrs.Weatherstone cast many a loving look at the tall girl beside her in the intervals of "Delighted to see you's," and saw that her double burden had had no worse effect than to soften the lines of the mouth and give a hint of pathos to the clear depths of her eyes.
The foreign visitors were much interested in the young Amazon of Industry, as the Prince insisted on calling her; and even the German Count for a moment forgot his ancestors in her pleasant practical talk.
Mrs.Weatherstone had taken pains to call upon the Wardens--claiming a connection, if not a relationship, and to invite them all.