Presently she heard the distant click of a gate, and very soon the
Rector and Joan appeared, Stair with the dreaming, far-away expression
in his eyes of one who has been communing with the saints.
Diana went to meet them and slipped her arm confidingly through his.
"Come back to earth, Pobs, dear," she coaxed gaily. "You look like
Moses might have done when he descended from the Mount."
The glory faded slowly out of his eyes.
"Come back to heaven, Di," he retorted a little sadly, "That's where
you came from, you know."
Diana shook her head.
"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.
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