"Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son. My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. Diane Vorsack was a disaster waiting for a place to happen, with a heartily established dislike for the Beck clan. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her.
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