The only man present was Mr.Barton, who sat listening with ill-concealed smiles to what was going on, without taking part in it.
Diana extricated herself with as much dignity as she could muster, but she was too young to take the matter philosophically.

She went up-stairs burning with anger, the tears of hurt feeling in her eyes.

It seemed to her that Mrs.Fotheringham's attack implied a personal dislike; Mr.
Marsham's sister had been glad to "take it out of her." To this young cherished creature it was almost her first experience of the kind.
On the way up-stairs she paused to look wistfully out of a staircase window.

Still raining--alack! She thought with longing of the open fields, and the shooters.

Was there to be no escape all day from the ugly oppressive house, and some of its inmates?
Half shyly, yet with a quickening of the heart, she remembered Marsham's farewell to her of that morning, his look of the night before.