"You did, I verily believe," she declared affectionately. "But there's
only a very small slice of heaven in my composition, I'm afraid."

Stair looked down at her thoughtfully, at the clean line of the cheek
curving into the pointed, determined little chin, at the sensitive,
eager mouth, unconsciously sensuous in the lovely curve of its short
upper-lip, at the ardent, glowing eyes--the whole face vital with the
passionate demand of youth for the kingdoms of the earth.

"We've all got our share of heaven, my dear," he said at last, smiling
a little. "But I'm thinking yours may need some hard chiselling of
fate to bring it into prominence."

Diana wriggled her shoulders.

"It doesn't sound nice, Pobs. I don't in the least want to be
chiselled into shape, it reminds one too much of the dentist."

"The gentleman who chisels out decay? You're exactly carrying out my
metaphor to its bitter end," returned Stair composedly.

"Oh, Joan, do stop him," exclaimed Diana appealingly. "I'm going to
church this morning, and if he lectures me like this I shall have no
appetite left for spiritual things."

"I didn't know you ever had--much," replied Joan, laughing.

"Well, anyway, I've a thoroughly healthy appetite for my breakfast,"
said Diana, as they went into the dining-room. "I'm feeling
particularly cheerful just this moment. I have a presentiment that