The mere money in itself was nothing; it was only a
means to an end. She had never even realised how much was expended on
the continuous and luxurious expeditions that she had made with Sir
Aubrey; her own individual tastes were simple, and apart from the
expensive equipment that was indispensable for their hunting trips, and
which was Aubrey's choosing, not hers, she was not extravagant. The
long list of figures that had been so boring during the tedious hours
that she had spent with the lawyer, grudging every second of the
glorious September morning that she had had to waste in the library
when she was longing to be out of doors, had conveyed nothing to her
beyond the fact that in future when she wanted anything she would be
put to the trouble of writing out an absurd piece of paper herself,
instead of leaving the matter in Aubrey's hands, as she had done
hitherto.
She had hardly understood and had been much embarrassed by the formal
and pedantic congratulations with which the lawyer had concluded his
business statement. She was not aware that she was an object of
congratulation. It all seemed very stupid and uninteresting. Of real
life she knew nothing and of the ordinary ties and attachments of
family life less than nothing. Aubrey's cold, loveless training had
debarred her from all affection; she had grown up oblivious of it. Love
did not exist for her; from even the thought of passion she shrank
instinctively with the same fastidiousness as she did from actual
physical uncleanliness.
That she had awakened an emotion that she did not understand herself in
certain men had been an annoyance that had become more intolerable with
repetition. She had hated them and herself impartially, and she had
scorned them fiercely. She had never been so gentle and so human with
any one as she had been with Jim Arbuthnot, and that only because she
was so radiantly happy that night that not even the distasteful
reminder that she was a woman whom a man coveted was able to disturb
her happiness. But here there was no need to dwell on annoyances or
distasteful reminders.
Diana dug her heels into the soft ground with a little wriggle of
content; here she would be free from anything that could mar her
perfect enjoyment of life as it appeared to her. Here there was nothing
to spoil her pleasure. Her head had drooped during her thoughts, and
for the last few minutes her eyes had been fixed on the dusty tips of
her riding-boots. But she raised them now and looked up with a great
content in them. It was the happiest day of her life. She had forgotten
the quarrel with Aubrey. She had put from her the chain of ideas
suggested by the passing caravan. There was nothing discordant to
disturb the perfect harmony of her mind.