The second volume of Diana of the Crossways opens with a scene of deliberate domesticity: Diana, alone in an empty house, kneels to light a fire herself. The narrator notes that she “spoke her meaning,” and her actions—laying paper, wood, and matches “like a housemaid”—immediately establish a character who performs practical tasks with grace. This moment, observed by Redworth, sets a tone of self-sufficiency under strain. The excerpts that follow trace Diana’s navigation of a scandal, her conversations with Emma Dunstane, and her eventual public trial. A first reader will notice how Meredith uses small physical actions (lighting a fire, opening a window) to reveal inner resolve and social critique.

A Fire Lit by Hand

The opening excerpt of Volume 2 shows Diana in a cold, empty house, refusing to wait for servants. She insists on building the fire herself, and Redworth watches “like a housemaid.” The description is precise: she “knelt, handling paper, firewood and matches.” This is not a generic gesture of independence; it is a specific, skilled act. The narrator compares her to “a Madonna on an old black Spanish canvas,” blending the sacred with the mundane. For a first reader, this scene signals that Diana’s strength is not merely intellectual or emotional—it is practical. She can manage a household task as readily as she manages conversation. The fire she lights becomes a symbol of her ability to create warmth in a cold situation, a quality that will be tested as the volume progresses.

The Trick at the Window

In a later excerpt, Diana confesses to Emma a “trick” she played to avoid a confrontation with her husband. She opened a window and placed a lamp near it, exposing the interior to the street, then stung Warwick into loud retorts so that passing footsteps would move on. She calls it “the worst I was guilty of,” but also admits it was done “by instinct.” The scene is striking for its theatricality: Diana stages a scene to control who sees what. The window becomes a boundary between private crisis and public perception. Meredith does not moralize; he lets Diana’s self-condemnation stand. A first reader may note how this moment echoes the earlier fire-lighting: both are acts of resourcefulness under pressure, but the window trick carries a darker, more calculating edge. It foreshadows the public scrutiny to come.

Material Conditions and Social Rebellion

During her conversation with Emma, Diana articulates a sharp critique of women’s dependency. She says, “Whenever I am distracted by existing circumstances, I lay my finger on the material conditions, and I touch the secret.” She distinguishes between individual morality and collective material wrongs: “gross wrongs, gross hungers.” This is not abstract theorizing; it is grounded in her own experience as a “married rebel.” She predicts a world reversed if women gain economic independence. The language is direct and unsentimental. For a first reader, this passage provides a key to understanding Diana’s actions throughout the volume. Her rebellion is not merely personal; it is a response to systemic constraints. The narrative does not endorse or condemn her views but presents them as a coherent philosophy emerging from her predicament.

The Bull’s Head and the Week of Good News

The excerpts conclude with Diana facing “the Bull’s Head, or British Jury of Twelve,” during a week of good news: Redworth is elected to Parliament, and Percy Dacier delivers a brilliant speech. The juxtaposition is telling. Diana’s trial—her public character assessment—occurs alongside political successes for the men around her. The narrative does not describe the trial itself; it only notes that it was faced “during the latter half of a week of good news.” This elliptical treatment leaves the reader to infer the outcome from the surrounding context. A first reader may notice how Meredith withholds dramatic climax, focusing instead on the aftermath and the continuing thread of Diana’s relationships. The volume ends not with a verdict but with a sense of ongoing probation.

These excerpts reveal a novel that builds its drama through small, telling actions and conversations rather than large set pieces. A first reader will benefit from attending to the physical details—the fire, the window, the lamp—as much as to the dialogue. Meredith’s narrator often steps back, letting characters speak and act without explicit commentary. The result is a story that feels both intimate and reserved, inviting the reader to judge as carefully as the characters judge one another.