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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16427-8.txt b/16427-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd11459 --- /dev/null +++ b/16427-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11128 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Splendid Folly, by Margaret Pedler + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Splendid Folly + + +Author: Margaret Pedler + + + +Release Date: August 4, 2005 [eBook #16427] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPLENDID FOLLY*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +THE SPLENDID FOLLY + +by + +MARGARET PEDLER + +Author of the Hermit of Far End, etc. + +New York +Grosset & Dunlap +Publishers + +1921 + + + + + + + +TO MY HUSBAND + +W. G. Q. PEDLER + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + I THE VERDICT + II FELLOW-TRAVELLERS + III AN ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH + IV CRAILING RECTORY + V THE SECOND MEETING + VI THE AFTERMATH OF AN ADVENTURE + VII DIANA SINGS + VIII MRS. LAWRENCE'S HOSPITALITY + IX A CONTEST OF WILLS + X MISS LERMONTOF'S ADVICE + XI THE YEAR'S FRUIT + XII MAX ERRINGTON'S RETURN + XIII THE FRIEND WHO STOOD BY + XIV THE FLAME OF LOVE + XV DIANA'S DECISION + XVI BARONI'S OPINION OF MATRIMONY + XVII "WHOM GOD HATH JOINED TOGETHER" + XVIII THE APPROACHING SHADOW + XIX THE "FIRST NIGHT" PERFORMANCE + XX THE SHADOW FALLS + XXI THE OTHER WOMAN + XXII THE PARTING OF THE WAYS + XXIII PAIN + XXIV THE VISION OF LOVE + XXV BREAKING-POINT + XXVI THE REAPING + XXVII CARLO BARONI EXPLAINS + XXVIII THE AWAKENING + XXIX SACRIFICE + + + + + THE HAVEN OF MEMORY + + Do you remember + Our great love's pure unfolding, + The troth you gave, + And prayed for God's upholding, + Long and long ago? + + Out of the past + A dream--and then the waking-- + Comes back to me, + Of love and love's forsaking, + Ere the summer waned. + + Ah! Let me dream + That still a little kindness + Dwelt in the smile + That chid my foolish blindness, + When you said good-bye. + + Let me remember, + When I am very lonely, + How once your love + But crowned and blessed me only, + Long and long ago! + + + MARGARET PEDLER. + + + + +NOTE:--Musical setting by Isador Epstein. Published by G. Ricordi & +Co.; 14 East 43rd Street, New York. + + + + +THE SPLENDID FOLLY + + +CHAPTER I + +THE VERDICT + +The March wind swirled boisterously down Grellingham Place, catching up +particles of grit and scraps of paper on his way and making them a +torment to the passers-by, just as though the latter were not already +amply occupied in trying to keep their hats on their heads. + +But the blustering fellow cared nothing at all about that as he drove +rudely against them, slapping their faces and blinding their eyes with +eddies of dust; on the contrary, after he had swept forwards like a +tornado for a matter of fifty yards or so he paused, as if in search of +some fresh devilment, and espied a girl beating her way up the street and +carrying a roll of music rather loosely in the crook of her arm. In an +instant he had snatched the roll away and sent the sheets spread-eagling +up the street, looking like so many big white butterflies as they flapped +and whirled deliriously hither and thither. + +The girl made an ineffectual grab at them and then dashed in pursuit, +while a small greengrocer's boy, whose time was his master's (ergo, his +own), joined in the chase with enthusiasm. + +Given a high wind, and half-a-dozen loose sheets of music, the elusive +quality of the latter seems to be something almost supernatural, not to +say diabolical, and the pursuit would probably have been a lengthy one +but for the fact that a tall man, who was rapidly advancing from the +opposite direction, seeing the girl's predicament, came to her help and +headed off the truant sheets. Within a few moments the combined efforts +of the girl, the man, and the greengrocer's boy were successful in +gathering them together once more, and having tipped the boy, who had +entered thoroughly into the spirit of the thing and who was grinning +broadly, she turned, laughing and rather breathless, to thank the man. + +But the laughter died suddenly away from her lips as she encountered the +absolute lack of response in his face. It remained quite grave and +unsmiling, exactly as though its owner had not been engaged, only two +minutes before, in a wild and undignified chase after half-a-dozen sheets +of paper which persisted in pirouetting maddeningly just out of reach. + +The face was that of a man of about thirty-five, clean-shaven and +fair-skinned, with arresting blue eyes of that peculiar piercing quality +which seems to read right into the secret places of one's mind. The +features were clear-cut--straight nose, square chin, the mouth rather +sternly set, yet with a delicate uplift at its corners that gave it a +singularly sweet expression. + +The girl faltered. + +"Thank you so much," she murmured at last. + +The man's deep-set blue eyes swept her from head to foot in a single +comprehensive glance. + +"I am very glad to have been of service," he said briefly. + +With a slight bow he raised his hat and passed on, moving swiftly down +the street, leaving her staring surprisedly after him and vaguely feeling +that she had been snubbed. + +To Diana Quentin this sensation was something of a novelty. As a rule, +the men who were brought into contact with her quite obviously +acknowledged her distinctly charming personality, but this one had +marched away with uncompromising haste and as unconcernedly as though she +had been merely the greengrocer's boy, and he had been assisting him in +the recovery of some errant Brussels sprouts. + +For a moment an amused smile hovered about her lips; then the +recollection of her business in Grellingham Place came back to her with a +suddenly sobering effect and she hastened on her way up the street, +pausing at last at No. 57. She mounted the steps reluctantly, and with a +nervous, spasmodic intake of the breath pressed the bell-button. + +No one came to answer the door--for the good and sufficient reason that +Diana's timid pressure had failed to elicit even the faintest sound--and +its four blank brown panels seemed to stare at her forbiddingly. She +stared back at them, her heart sinking ever lower and lower the while, +for behind those repellent portals dwelt the great man whose "Yea" or +"Nay" meant so much to her--Carlo Baroni, the famous teacher of singing, +whose verdict upon any voice was one from which there could be no appeal. + +Diana wondered how many other aspirants to fame had lingered like herself +upon that doorstep, their hearts beating high with hope, only to descend +the white-washed steps a brief hour later with the knowledge that from +the standpoint of the musical profession their voices were useless for +all practical purposes, and with their pockets lighter by two guineas, +the _maestro's_ fee for an opinion. + +The wind swept up the street again and Diana shivered, her teeth +chattering partly with cold but even more with nervousness. This was a +bad preparation for the coming interview, and with an irritation born of +despair she pressed the bell-button to such good purpose that she could +hear footsteps approaching, almost before the trill of the bell had +vibrated into silence. + +An irreproachable man-servant, with the face of a sphinx, opened the door. + +Diana tried to speak, failed, then, moistening her lips, jerked out the +words:-- + +"Signor Baroni?" + +"Have you an appointment?" came the relentless inquiry, and Diana could +well imagine how inexorably the greatly daring who had come on chance +would be turned away. + +"Yes--oh, yes," she stammered. "For three o'clock--Miss Diana Quentin." + +"Come this way, please." The man stood aside for her to enter, and a +minute later she found herself following him through a narrow hall to the +door of a room whence issued the sound of a softly-played pianoforte +accompaniment. + +The sphinx-like one threw open the door and announced her name, and with +quaking knees she entered. + +The room was a large one. At its further end stood a grand piano, so +placed that whoever was playing commanded a full view of the remainder of +the room, and at this moment the piano-stool was occupied by Signor +Baroni himself, evidently in the midst of giving a lesson to a young man +who was standing at his elbow. He was by no means typically Italian in +appearance; indeed, his big frame and finely-shaped head with its +massive, Beethoven brow reminded one forcibly of the fact that his mother +had been of German origin. But the heavy-lidded, prominent eyes, neither +brown nor hazel but a mixture of the two, and the sallow skin and long, +mobile lips--these were unmistakably Italian. The nose was slightly +Jewish in its dominating quality, and the hair that was tossed back over +his head and descended to the edge of his collar with true musicianly +luxuriance was grizzled by sixty years of strenuous life. It would seem +that God had taken an Italian, a German, and a Jew, and out of them +welded a surpassing genius. + +Baroni nodded casually towards Diana, and, still continuing to play with +one hand, gestured towards an easy-chair with the other. + +"How do you do? Will you sit down, please," he said, speaking with a +strong, foreign accent, and then apparently forgot all about her. + +"Now"--he turned to the young man whose lesson her entry had +interrupted--"we will haf this through once more. Bee-gin, please: '_In +all humility I worship thee_.'" + +Obediently the young man opened his mouth, and in a magnificent baritone +voice declaimed that reverently, and from a great way off, he ventured to +worship at his beloved's shrine, while Diana listened spell-bound. + +If this were the only sort of voice Baroni condescended to train, what +chance had she? And the young man's singing seemed so finished, the +fervour of his passion was so vehemently rendered, that she humbly +wondered that there still remained anything for him to learn. It was +almost like listening to a professional. + +Quite suddenly Baroni dropped his hands from the piano and surveyed the +singer with such an eloquent mixture of disgust and bitter contempt in +his extraordinarily expressive eyes that Diana positively jumped. + +"Ach! So that is your idea of a humble suitor, is it?" he said, and +though he never raised his voice above the rather husky, whispering tones +that seemed habitual to him, it cut like a lash. Later, Diana was to +learn that Baroni's most scathing criticisms and most furious reproofs +were always delivered in a low, half-whispering tone that fairly seared +the victim. "That is your idea, then--to shout, and yell, and bellow +your love like a caged bull? When will you learn that music is not +noise, and that love--love"--and the odd, husky voice thrilled suddenly +to a note as soft and tender as the cooing of a wood-pigeon--"can be +expressed _piano_--ah, but _pianissimo_--as well as by blowing great +blasts of sound from those leathern bellows which you call your lungs?" + +The too-forceful baritone stood abashed, shifting uneasily from one foot +to the other. With a swift motion Baroni swept up the music from the +piano and shovelled it pell-mell into the young man's arms. + +"Oh, go away, go away!" he said impatiently. "You are a voice--just a +voice--and nothing more. You will _nevaire_ be an artist!" And he +turned his back on him. + +Very dejectedly the young man made his way towards the door, whilst +Diana, overcome with sympathy and horror at his abrupt dismissal, could +hardly refrain from rushing forward to intercede for him. + +And then, to her intense amazement, Baroni whisked suddenly round, and +following the young man to the door, laid his hand on his shoulder. + +"_Au revoir, mon brave_," he said, with the utmost bonhomie. "Bring the +song next time and we will go through it again. But do not be +discouraged--no, for there is no need. It will come--it will come. But +remember, _piano--piano--pianissimo_!" + +And with a reassuring pat on the shoulder he pushed the young man +affectionately through the doorway and closed the door behind him. + +So he had not been dismissed in disgrace after all! Diana breathed a +sigh of relief, and, looking up, found Signor Baroni regarding her with a +large and benevolent smile. + +"You theenk I was too severe with him?" he said placidly. "But no. He +is like iron, that young man; he wants hammer-blows." + +"I think he got them," replied Diana crisply, and then stopped, aghast at +her own temerity. She glanced anxiously at Baroni to see if he had +resented her remark, only to find him surveying her with a radiant smile +and looking exactly like a large, pleased child. + +"We shall get on, the one with the other," he observed contentedly. +"Yes, we shall get on. And now--who are you? I do not remember +names"--with a terrific roll of his R's--"but you haf a very pree-ty +face--and I never forget a pree-ty face." + +"I'm--I'm Diana Quentin," she blurted out, nervousness once more +overpowering her as she realised that the moment of her ordeal was +approaching. "I've come to have my voice tried." + +Baroni picked up a memorandum book from his table, turning over the pages +till he came to her name. + +"Ach! I remember now. Miss Waghorne--my old pupil sent you. She has +been teaching you, isn't it so?" + +Diana nodded. + +"Yes, I've had a few lessons from her, and she hoped that possibly you +would take me as a pupil." + +It was out at last--the proposal which now, in the actual presence of the +great man himself, seemed nothing less than a piece of stupendous +presumption. + +Signor Baroni's eyes roamed inquiringly over the face and figure of the +girl before him--quite possibly querying as to whether or no she +possessed the requisite physique for a singer. Nevertheless, the great +master was by no means proof against the argument of a pretty face. +There was a story told of him that, on one occasion, a girl with an +exceptionally fine voice had been brought to him, some wealthy patroness +having promised to defray the expenses of her training if Baroni would +accept her as a pupil. Unfortunately, the girl was distinctly plain, +with a quite uninteresting plainness of the pasty, podgy description, and +after he had heard her sing, the _maestro_, first dismissing her from the +room, had turned to the lady who was prepared to stand sponsor for her, +and had said, with an inimitable shrug of his massive shoulders:-- + +"The voice--it is all right. But the girl--heavens, madame, she is of an +ugliness! And I cannot teach ugly people. She has the face of a +peeg--please take her away." + +But there was little fear that a similar fate would befall Diana. Her +figure, though slight with the slenderness of immaturity, was built on +the right lines, and her young, eager face, in its frame of raven hair, +was as vivid as a flower--its clear pallor serving but to emphasise the +beauty of the straight, dark brows and of the scarlet mouth with its +ridiculously short upper-lip. Her eyes were of that peculiarly light +grey which, when accompanied, as hers were, by thick black lashes, gives +an almost startling impression each time the lids are lifted, an odd +suggestion of inner radiance that was vividly arresting. + +An intense vitality, a curious shy charm, the sensitiveness inseparable +from the artist nature--all these, and more, Baroni's experienced eye +read in Diana's upturned face, but it yet remained for him to test the +quality of her vocal organs. + +"Well, we shall see," he said non-committally. "I do not take many +pupils." + +Diana's heart sank yet a little lower, and she felt almost tempted to +seek refuge in immediate flight rather than remain to face the inevitable +dismissal that she guessed would be her portion. + +Baroni, however, put a summary stop to any such wild notions by turning +on her with the lightning-like change of mood which she came afterwards +to know as characteristic of him. + +"You haf brought some songs?" He held out his hand. "Good. Let me see +them." + +He glanced swiftly through the roll of music which she tendered. + +"This one--we will try this. Now"--seating himself at the piano--"open +your mouth, little nightingale, and sing." + +Softly he played the opening bars of the prelude to the song, and Diana +watched fascinatedly while he made the notes speak, and sing, and melt +into each other with his short stumpy fingers that looked as though they +and music would have little enough in common. + +"Now then. Bee-gin." + +And Diana began. But she was so nervous that she felt as though her +throat had suddenly closed up, and only a faint, quavering note issued +from her lips, breaking off abruptly in a hoarse croak. + +Baroni stopped playing. + +"Tchut! she is frightened," he said, and laid an encouraging hand on her +shoulder. "But do not be frightened, my dear. You haf a pree-ty face; +if your voice is as pree-ty as your face you need not haf fear." + +Diana was furious with herself for failing at the critical moment, and +even more angry at Baroni's speech, in which she sensed a suggestion of +the tolerance extended to the average drawing-room singer of mediocre +powers. + +"I don't want to have a _pretty_ voice!" she broke out, passionately. "I +wouldn't say thank you for it." + +And anger having swallowed up her nervousness, she opened her mouth--and +her throat with it this time?--and let out the full powers that were +hidden within her nice big larynx. + +When she ceased, Baroni closed the open pages of the song, and turning on +his stool, regarded her for a moment in silence. + +"No," he said at last, dispassionately. "It is certainly not a pree-ty +voice." + +To Diana's ears there was such a tone of indifference, such an air of +utter finality about the brief speech, that she felt she would have been +eternally grateful now could she only have passed the low standard +demanded by the possession of even a merely "pretty" voice. + +"So this is the voice you bring me to cultivate?" continued the +_maestro_. "This that sounds like the rumblings of a subterranean +earthquake? Boom! boo-o-om! Like that, _nicht wahr_?" + +Diana crimsoned, and, feeling her knees giving way beneath her, sank into +the nearest chair, while Baroni continued to stare at her. + +"Then--then you cannot take me as a pupil?" she said faintly. + +Apparently he did not hear her, for he asked abruptly:-- + +"Are you prepared to give up everything--everything in the world for art? +She is no easy task-mistress, remember! She will want a great deal of +your time, and she will rob you of your pleasures, and for her sake you +will haf to take care of your body--to guard your physical health--as +though it were the most precious thing on earth. To become a great +singer, a great artiste, means a life of self-denial. Are you prepared +for this?" + +"But--but--" stammered Diana in astonishment. "If my voice is not even +pretty--if it is no good--" + +"_No good_?" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet with a rapidity of +movement little short of marvellous in a man of his size and bulk. +"_Gran Dio_! No good, did you say? But, my child, you haf a voice of +gold--pure gold. In three years of my training it will become the voice +of the century. Tchut! No good!" + +He pranced nimbly to the door and flung it open. + +"Giulia! Giulia!" he shouted, and a minute later a fat, amiable-looking +woman, whose likeness to Baroni proclaimed them brother and sister, came +hurrying downstairs in answer to his call. "Signora Evanci, my sister," +he said, nodding to Diana. "This, Giulia, is a new pupil, and I would +haf you hear her voice. It is magnificent--_épatant_! Open your mouth, +little singing-bird, once more. This time we will haf some scales." + +Bewildered and excited, Diana sang again, Baroni testing the full compass +of her voice until quite suddenly he shut down the lid of the piano. + +"It is enough," he said solemnly, and then, turning to Signora Evanci, +began talking to her in an excited jumble of English and Italian. Diana +caught broken phrases here and there. + +"Of a quality superb! . . . And a beeg compass which will grow beeger +yet. . . . The contralto of the century, Giulia." + +And Signora Evanci smiled and nodded agreement, patting Diana's hand, and +reminded Baroni that it was time for his afternoon cup of consommé. She +was a comfortable feather-bed of a woman, whose mission in life it seemed +to be to fend off from her brother all sharp corners, and to see that he +took his food at the proper intervals and changed into the thick +underclothing necessitated by the horrible English climate. + +"But it will want much training, your voice," continued Baroni, turning +once more to Diana. "It is so beeg that it is all over the place--it +sounds like a clap of thunder that has lost his way in a back garden." +And he smiled indulgently. "To bee-gin with, you will put away all your +songs--every one. There will be nothing but exercises for months yet. +And you will come for your first lesson on Thursday. Mondays and +Thursdays I will teach you, but you must come other days, also, and +listen at my lessons. There is much--very much--learned by listening, if +one listens with the brain as well as with the ear. Now, little +singing-bird, good-bye. I will go with you myself to the door." + +The whole thing seemed too impossibly good to be true. Diana felt as if +she were in the middle of a beautiful dream from which she might at any +moment waken to the disappointing reality of things. Hardly able to +believe the evidence of her senses, she found herself once again in the +narrow hall, shepherded by the maestro's portly form. As he held the +door open for her to pass out into the street, some one ran quickly up +the steps, pausing on the topmost. + +"Ha, Olga!" exclaimed Baroni, beaming. "You haf returned just too late +to hear Mees Quentin. But you will play for her--many times yet." Then, +turning to Diana, he added by way of introduction: "This is my +accompanist, Mees Lermontof." + +Diana received the impression of a thin, satirical face, its unusual +pallor picked out by the black brows and hair, of a bitter-looking mouth +that hardly troubled itself to smile in salutation, and, above all, of a +pair of queer green eyes, which, as the heavy, opaque white lids above +them lifted, seemed slowly--and rather contemptuously--to take her in +from head to foot. + +She bowed, and as Miss Lermontof inclined her head slightly in response, +there was a kind of cold aloofness in her bearing--a something defiantly +repellent--which filled Diana with a sudden sense of dislike, almost of +fear. It was as though the sun had all at once gone behind a cloud. + +The Baroni's voice fell on her ears, and the disagreeable tension snapped. + +"_A rivederci_, little singing-bird. On Thursday we will bee-gin." + +The door closed on the _maestro's_ benevolently smiling face, and on that +other--the dark, satirical face of Olga Lermontof--and Diana found +herself once again breasting the March wind as it came roystering up +through Grellingham Place. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +FELLOW-TRAVELLERS + +"Look sharp, miss, jump in! Luggage in the rear van." + +The porter hoisted her almost bodily up the steps of the railway +carriage, slamming the door behind her, the guard's whistle shrieked, and +an instant later the train started with a jerk that sent Diana staggering +against the seat of the compartment, upon which she finally subsided, +breathless but triumphant. + +She had very nearly missed the train. An organised procession of some +kind had been passing through the streets just as she was driving to the +station, and her taxi had been held up for the full ten minutes' grace +which she had allowed herself, the metre fairly ticking its heart out in +impotent rage behind the policeman's uplifted hand. + +So it was with a sigh of relief that she found herself at last +comfortably installed in a corner seat of a first-class carriage. She +glanced about her to make sure that she had not mislaid any of her hand +baggage in her frantic haste, and this point being settled to her +satisfaction, she proceeded to take stock of her fellow-traveller, for +there was one other person in the compartment besides herself. + +He was sitting in the corner furthest away, his back to the engine, +apparently entirely oblivious of her presence. On his knee rested a +quarto writing-pad, and he appeared so much absorbed in what he was +writing that Diana doubted whether he had even heard the commotion, +occasioned by her sudden entry. + +But she was mistaken. As the porter had bundled her into the carriage, +the man in the corner had raised a pair of deep-set blue eyes, looked at +her for a moment with a half-startled glance, and then, with the barest +flicker of a smile, had let his eyes drop once more upon his writing-pad. +Then he crossed out the word "Kismet," which he had inadvertently written. + +Diana regarded him with interest. He was probably an author, she +decided, and since a year's training as a professional singer had brought +her into contact with all kinds of people who earned their livings by +their brains, as she herself hoped to do some day, she instantly felt a +friendly interest in him. She liked, too, the shape of the hand that +held the fountain-pen; it was a slender, sensitive-looking member with +well-kept nails, and Diana always appreciated nice hands. The man's head +was bent over his work, so that she could only obtain a foreshortened +glimpse of his face, but he possessed a supple length of limb that even +the heavy travelling-rug tucked around his knees failed to disguise, and +there was a certain _soigné_ air of rightness about the way he wore his +clothes which pleased her. + +Suddenly becoming conscious that she was staring rather openly, she +turned her eyes away and looked out of the window, and immediately +encountered a big broad label, pasted on to the glass, with the word +"_Reserved_" printed on it in capital letters. The letters, of course, +appeared reversed to any one inside the carriage, but they were so big +and black and hectoring that they were quite easily deciphered. + +Evidently, in his violent haste to get her on board the train, the porter +had thrust her into the privacy of some one's reserved compartment that +some one being the man opposite. What a horrible predicament! Diana +felt hot all over with embarrassment, and, starting to her feet, +stammered out a confused apology. + +The man in the corner raised his head. + +"It does not matter in the least," he assured her indifferently. "Please +do not distress yourself. I believe the train is very crowded; you had +better sit down again." + +The chilly lack of interest in his tones struck Diana with an odd sense +of familiarity, but she was too preoccupied to dwell on it, and began +hastily to collect together her dressing-case and other odds and ends. + +"I'll find another seat," she said stiffly, and made her way out into the +corridor of the rocking train. + +Her search, however, proved quite futile; every compartment was packed +with people hurrying out of town for Easter, and in a few moments she +returned. + +"I'm sorry," she said, rather shyly. "Every seat is taken. I'm afraid +you'll have to put up with me." + +Just then the carriage gave a violent lurch, as the express swung around +a bend, and Diana, dropping everything she held, made a frantic clutch at +the rack above her head, while her goods and chattels shot across the +floor, her dressing-case sliding gaily along till its wild career was +checked against the foot of the man in the corner. + +With an air of resignation he rose and retrieved her belongings, placing +them on the seat opposite her. + +"It would have been better if you had taken my advice," he observed, with +a sort of weary patience. + +Diana felt unreasonably angry with him. + +"Why don't you say 'I told you so' at once?" she said tartly. + +A whimsical smile crossed his face. + +"Well, I did, didn't I?" + +He stood for a moment looking down at her, steadying himself with one +hand against the doorway, and her ill-humour vanishing as quickly as it +had arisen, she returned the smile. + +"Yes, you did. And you were quite right, too," she acknowledged frankly. + +He laughed outright. + +"Well done!" he cried. "Not one woman in twenty will own herself in the +wrong as a rule." + +Diana frowned. + +"I don't agree with you at all," she bristled. "Men have a ridiculous +way of lumping all women together and then generalising about them." + +"Let's discuss the question," he said gaily. "May I?" And scarcely +waiting for her permission, he deliberately moved aside her things and +seated himself opposite her. + +"But you were busy writing," she protested. + +He threw an indifferent glance in the direction of his writing-pad, where +it lay on the seat in the corner. + +"Was I?" he answered calmly. "Sometimes there are better things to do +than scribbling--pleasanter ones, anyway." + +Diana flushed. It certainly was an unusual thing to do, to get into +conversation with an unknown man with whom one chanced to be travelling, +and she had never before committed such a breach of the +conventions--would have been shocked at the bare idea of it--but there +was something rather irresistible about this man's cool self-possession. +He seemed to assume that a thing must of necessity be right, since he +chose to do it. + +She looked up and met his eyes watching her with a glint of amusement in +their depths. + +"No, it isn't quite proper," he agreed, answering her unspoken thought. +"But I've never bothered about that if I really wanted to do a thing. +And don't you think"--still with that flicker of laughter in his +eyes--"that it's rather ridiculous, when two human beings are shut up in +a box together for several hours, for each of them to behave as though +the other weren't there?" + +He spoke half-mockingly, and Diana, felt that within himself he was +ridiculing her prim little notions of conventionality. She flushed +uncomfortably. + +"Yes, I--I suppose so," she faltered. + +He seemed to understand. + +"Forgive me," he said, with a sudden gentleness. "I wasn't laughing at +you, but only at all the absurd conventions by which we cut ourselves off +from many an hour of pleasant intercourse--just as though we had any too +many pleasures in life! But if you wish it, I'll go back to my corner." + +"No, no, don't go," returned Diana hastily. "It--it was silly of me." + +"Then we may talk? Good. I shall behave quite nicely, I assure you." + +Again the curiously familiar quality in his voice! She was positive she +had heard it before--that crisp, unslurred enunciation, with its keen +perception of syllabic values, so unlike the average Englishman's +slovenly rendering of his mother-tongue. + +"Of what are you thinking?" he asked, smiling. And then the swift, +hawk-like glance of the blue eyes brought with it a sudden, sure sense of +recognition, stinging the slumbering cells of memory into activity. A +picture shaped itself in her mind of a blustering March day, and of a +girl, a man, and an errand-boy, careering wildly in the roadway of a +London street, while some stray sheets of music went whirling hither and +thither in the wind. It had all happened a year ago, on that critical +day when Baroni had consented to accept her as his pupil, but the +recollection of it, and the odd, snubbed feeling she had experienced in +regard to the man with the blue eyes, was as clear in her mind as though +it had occurred only yesterday. + +"I believe we have met before, haven't we?" she said. + +The look of gay good-humour vanished suddenly from his face and an +expression of blank inquiry took its place. + +"I think not," he replied. + +"Oh, but I'm sure of it. Don't you remember"--brightly--"about a year +ago. I was carrying some music, and it all blew away up the street and +you helped me to collect it again?" + +He shook his head. + +"I think you must be mistaken," he answered regretfully. + +"No, no," she persisted, but beginning to experience some slight +embarrassment. (It is embarrassing to find you have betrayed a keen and +vivid recollection of a man who has apparently forgotten that he ever set +eyes on you!) "Oh, you must remember--it was in Grellingham Place, and +the greengrocer's boy helped as well." + +She broke off, reading the polite negation in his face. + +"You must be confusing me with some one else. I should not be likely +to--forget--so charming a _rencontre_." + +There was surely a veiled mockery in his composed tones, irreproachably +courteous though they were, and Diana coloured hotly. Somehow, this man +possessed the faculty of making her feel awkward and self-conscious and +horribly young; he himself was so essentially of the polished type of +cosmopolitan that beside him she felt herself to be as raw and crude as +any bread-and-butter miss fresh from the schoolroom. Moreover, she had +an inward conviction that in reality he recollected the incident in +Grellingham Place as clearly as she did herself, although he refused to +admit it. + +She relapsed into an uncomfortable silence, and presently the attendant +from the restaurant car came along the corridor and looked in to ask if +they were going to have dinner on the train. Both nodded an affirmative. + +"Table for two?" he queried, evidently taking them to be two friends +travelling together. + +Diana was about to enlighten him when her _vis-à-vis_ leaned forward +hastily. + +"Please," he said persuasively, and as she returned no answer he +apparently took her silence for consent, for something passed +unobtrusively from his hand to that of the attendant, and the latter +touched his hat with a smiling--"Right you are, sir! I'll reserve a +table for two." + +Diana felt that the acquaintance was progressing rather faster than she +could have wished, but she hardly knew how to check it. Finally she +mustered up courage to say firmly:-- + +"It must only be if I pay for my own dinner." + +"But, of course," he answered courteously, with the slightest tinge of +surprise in his tones, and once again Diana, felt that she had made a +fool of herself and blushed to the tips of her ears. + +A faint smile trembled for an instant on his lips, and then, without +apparently noticing her confusion, he began to talk, passing easily from +one subject to another until she had regained her confidence, finally +leading her almost imperceptibly into telling him about herself. + +In the middle of dinner she paused, aghast at her own loquacity. + +"But what a horrible egotist you must think me!" she exclaimed. "I've +been talking about my own affairs all the time." + +"Not at all. I'm interested. This Signor Baroni who is training your +voice--he is the finest teacher in the world. You must have a very +beautiful voice for him to have accepted you as a pupil." There was a +hint of surprise in his tones. + +"Oh, no," she hastened to assure him modestly. "I expect it was more +that I had the luck to catch him in a good mood that afternoon." + +"And his moods vary considerably, don't they?" he said, smiling as though +at some personal recollection. + +"Oh, do you know him?" asked Diana eagerly. + +In an instant his face became a blank mask; it was as though a shutter +had descended, blotting out all its vivacious interest. + +"I have met him," he responded briefly. Then, turning the subject +adroitly, he went on: "So now you are on your way home for a well-earned +holiday? Your people must be looking forward to seeing you after so long +a time--you have been away a year, didn't you say?" + +"Yes, I spent the other two vacations abroad, in Italy, for the sake of +acquiring the language. Signor Baroni"--laughingly--"was horror-stricken +at my Italian, so he insisted. But I have no people--not really, you +know," she continued. "I live with my guardian and his daughter. Both +my parents died when I was quite young." + +"You are not very old now," he interjected. + +"I'm eighteen," she answered seriously. + +"It's a great age," he acknowledged, with equal gravity. + +Just then a waiter sped forward and with praiseworthy agility deposited +their coffee on the table without spilling a drop, despite the swaying of +the train, and Diana's fellow-traveller produced his cigarette-case. + +"Will you smoke?" he asked. + +She looked at the cigarettes longingly. + +"Baroni's forbidden me to smoke," she said, hesitating a little. "Do you +think--just one--would hurt my voice?" + +The short black lashes flew up, and the light-grey eyes, like a couple of +stars between black clouds, met his in irresistible appeal. + +"I'm sure it wouldn't," he replied promptly. "After all, this is just an +hour's playtime that we have snatched out of life. Let's enjoy every +minute of it--we may never meet again." + +Diana felt her heart contract in a most unexpected fashion. + +"Oh, I hope we shall!" she exclaimed, with ingenuous warmth. + +"It is not likely," he returned quietly. He struck a match and held it +while she lit her cigarette, and for an instant their fingers touched. +His teeth came down hard on his under-lip. "No, we mustn't meet again," +he repeated in a low voice. + +"Oh, well, you never know," insisted Diana, with cheerful optimism. +"People run up against each other in the most extraordinary fashion. And +I expect we shall, too." + +"I don't think so," he said. "If I thought that we should--" He broke +off abruptly, frowning. + +"Why, I don't believe you _want_ to meet me again!" exclaimed Diana, with +a note in her voice like that of a hurt child. + +"Oh, for that!" He shrugged his shoulders. "If we could have what we +wanted in this world! Though, I mustn't complain--I have had this hour. +And I wanted it!" he added, with a sudden intensity. + +"So much that you propose to make it last you for the remainder of your +life?"--smiling. + +"It will have to," he answered grimly. + +After dinner they made their way back from the restaurant car to their +compartment, and noticing that she looked rather white and tired, he +suggested that she should tuck herself up on the seat and go to sleep. + +"But supposing I didn't wake at the right time?" she objected. "I might +be carried past my station and find myself heaven knows where in the +small hours of the morning! . . . I _am_ sleepy, though." + +"Let me be call-boy," he suggested. "Where do you want to get out?" + +"At Craiford Junction. That's the station for Crailing, where I'm going. +Do you know it at all? It's a tiny village in Devonshire; my guardian is +the Rector there." + +"Crailing?" An odd expression crossed his face and he hesitated a +moment. At last, apparently coming to a decision of some kind, he said: +"Then I must wake you up when I go, as I'm getting out before that." + +"Can I trust you?" she asked sleepily. + +"Surely." + +She had curled herself up on the seat with her feet stretched out in +front of her, one narrow foot resting lightly on the instep of the other, +and she looked up at him speculatively from between the double fringe of +her short black lashes. + +"Yes, I believe I can," she acquiesced, with a little smile. + +He tucked his travelling rug deftly round her, and, pulling on his +overcoat, went hack to his former corner, where he picked up the +neglected writing-pad and began scribbling in a rather desultory fashion. + +Very soon her even breathing told him that she slept, and he laid aside +the pad and sat quietly watching her. She looked very young and childish +as she lay there, with the faint shadows of fatigue beneath her closed +eyes--there was something appealing about her very helplessness. +Presently the rug slipped a little, and he saw her hand groping vaguely +for it. Quietly he tiptoed across the compartment and drew it more +closely about her. + +"Thank you--so much," she murmured drowsily, and the man looking down at +her caught his breath sharply betwixt his teeth. Then, with an almost +imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, he stepped back and resumed his +seat. + +The express sped on through the night, the little twin globes of light +high up in the carriage ceiling jumping and flickering as it swung along +the metals. + +Down the track it flew like a living thing, a red glow marking its +passage as it cleft the darkness, its freight of human souls contentedly +sleeping, or smoking, or reading, as the fancy took them. And half a +mile ahead on the permanent way, Death stood watching--watching and +waiting where, by some hideous accident of fate, a faulty coupling-rod +had snapped asunder in the process of shunting, leaving a solitary +coal-truck to slide slowly back into the shadows of the night, unseen, +the while its fellows were safely drawn on to a aiding. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +AN ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH + +One moment the even throbbing of the engine as the train slipped along +through the silence of the country-side--the next, and the silence was +split by a shattering roar and the shock of riven plates, the clash of +iron driven against iron, and of solid woodwork grinding and grating as +it splintered into wreckage. + +Diana, suddenly--horribly--awake, found herself hurled from her seat. +Absolute darkness lapped her round; it was as though a thick black +curtain had descended, blotting out the whole world, while from behind +it, immeasurably hideous in that utter night, uprose an inferno of cries +and shrieks--the clamour of panic-stricken humanity. + +Her hands, stretched stiffly out in front of her to ward off she knew not +what impending horror hidden by the dark, came in contact with the +framework of the window, and in an instant she was clinging to it, +pressing up against it with her body, her fingers gripping and clutching +at it as a rat, trapped in a well, claws madly at a projecting bit of +stonework. It was at least something solid out of that awful void. + +"What's happened? What's happened? What's happened?" + +She was whispering the question over and over again in a queer, +whimpering voice without the remotest idea of what she was saying. When +a stinging pain shot through her arm, as a jagged point of broken glass +bit into the flesh, and with a scream of utter, unreasoning terror she +let go her hold. + +The next moment she felt herself grasped and held by a pair of arms, and +a voice spoke to her out of the darkness. + +"Are you hurt? . . . My God, are you hurt?" + +With a sob of relief she realised that it was the voice of her +fellow-traveller. He was here, close to her, something alive and human +in the midst of this nightmare of awful, unspeakable fear, and she clung +to him, shuddering. + +"Speak, can't you?" His utterance sounded hoarse and distorted. "You're +hurt--?" And she felt his hands slide searchingly along her limbs, +feeling and groping. + +"No--no." + +"Thank God!" He spoke under his breath. Then, giving her a shake: +"Come, pull yourself together. We must get out of this." + +He fumbled in his pocket and she heard the rattle of a matchbox, and an +instant later a flame spurted out in the gloom as he lit a bundle of +matches together. In the brief illumination she could see the floor of +the compartment steeply tilted up and at its further end what looked like +a huge, black cavity. The whole side of the carriage had been wrenched +away. + +"Come on!" exclaimed the man, catching her by the hand and pulling her +forward towards that yawning space. "We must jump for it. It'll be a +big drop. I'll catch you." + +At the edge of the gulf he paused. Below, with eyes grown accustomed to +the darkness, she could discern figures running to and fro, and lanterns +flashing, while shouts and cries rose piercingly above a continuous low +undertone of moaning. + +"Stand here," he directed her. "I'll let myself down, and when I call to +you--jump." + +She caught at him frantically. + +"Don't go--don't leave me." + +He disengaged himself roughly from her clinging hands. + +"It only wants a moment's pluck," he said, "and then you'll be safe." + +The next minute he was over the side, hanging by his hands from the edge +of the bent and twisted flooring of the carriage, and a second afterwards +she heard him drop. Peering out, she could see him standing on the +ground below, his arms held out towards her. + +"Jump!" he called. + +But she shrank from the drop into the darkness. + +"I can't!" she sobbed helplessly. "I can't!" + +He approached a step nearer, and the light from some torch close at hand +flashed onto his uplifted face. She could see it clearly, tense and set, +the blue eyes blazing. + +"God in heaven!" he cried furiously. "Do what I tell you. _Jump_!" + +The fierce, imperative command startled her into action, and she jumped +blindly, recklessly, out into the night. There was one endless moment of +uncertainty, and then she felt herself caught by arms like steel and set +gently upon the ground. + +"You little fool!" he said thickly. He was breathing heavily as though +he had been running; she could feel his chest heave as, for an instant, +he held her pressed against him. + +He released her almost immediately, and taking her by the arm, led her to +the embankment, where he stripped off his overcoat and wrapped it about +her. But she was hardly conscious of what he was doing, for suddenly +everything seemed to be spinning round her. The lights of the torches +bobbed up and down in a confused blur of twinkling stars, the sound of +voices and the trampling of feet came faintly to her ears as from a great +way off, while the grim, black bulk of the piled-up coaches of the train +seemed to lean nearer and nearer, until finally it swooped down on top of +her and she sank into a sea of impenetrable darkness. + +The next thing she remembered was finding a flask held to her lips, while +a familiar voice commanded her to drink. She shook her head feebly. + +"Drink it at once," the voice insisted. "Do you hear?" + +And because her mind held some dim recollection of the futility of +gainsaying that peremptory voice, she opened her lips obediently and let +the strong spirit trickle down her throat. + +"Better now?" queried the voice. + +She nodded, and then, complete consciousness returning, she sat up. + +"I'm all right now--really," she said. + +The owner of the voice regarded her critically. + +"Yes, I think you'll do now," he returned. "Stay where you are. I'm +going along to see if I can help, but I'll come back to you again." + +The darkness swallowed him up, and Diana sat very still on the +embankment, vibrantly conscious in every nerve of her of the man's cool, +dominating personality. Gradually her thoughts returned to the +happenings of the moment, and then the full horror of what had occurred +came back to her. She began to cry weakly. But the tears did her good, +bringing with them relief from the awful shock which had strained her +nerves almost to breaking-point, and with return to a more normal state +of mind came the instinctive wish to help--to do something for those who +must be suffering so pitiably in the midst of that scarred heap of +wreckage on the line. + +She scrambled to her feet and made her way nearer to the mass of crumpled +coaches that reared up black against the shimmer of the starlit sky. No +one took any notice of her; all who were unhurt were working to save and +help those who had been less fortunate, and every now and then some +broken wreck of humanity was carried past her, groaning horribly, or +still more horribly silent. + +Suddenly a woman brushed against her--a young woman of the working +classes, her plump face sagging and mottled with terror, her eyes +staring, her clothes torn and dishevelled. + +"My chiel, my li'l chiel!" she kept on muttering. "Wur be 'ee? Wur be +'ee?" + +Reaching her through the dreadful strangeness of disaster, the soft Devon +dialect smote on Diana's ears with a sense of dear familiarity that was +almost painful. She laid her hand on the woman's arm. + +"What is it?" she asked. "Have you lost your child?" + +The woman looked at her vaguely, bewildered by the surrounding horror. + +"Iss. Us dunnaw wur er's tu; er's dade, I reckon. Aw, my li'l, li'l +chiel!" And she rocked to and fro, clutching her shawl more closely +round her. + +Diana put a few brief questions and elicited that the woman and her child +had both been taken unhurt out of a third-class carriage--of the ten +souls who had occupied the compartment the only ones to escape injury. + +"I'll go and look for him," she told her. "I expect he has only strayed +away and lost sight of you amongst all these people. Four years old and +wearing a little red coat, did you say? I'll find him for you; you sit +down here." And she pushed the poor distraught creature down on a pile +of shattered woodwork. "Don't be frightened," she added reassuringly. +"I feel certain he's quite safe." + +She disappeared into the throng, and after searching for a while came +face to face with her fellow traveller, carrying a chubby, red-coated +little boy in his arms. He stopped abruptly. + +"What in the world are you doing?" he demanded angrily. "You've no +business here. Go back--you'll only see some ghastly sights if you come, +and you can't help. Why didn't you stay where I told you to?" + +But Diana paid no heed. + +"I want that child," she said eagerly, holding out her arms. "The +mother's nearly out of her mind--she thinks he's killed, and I told her +I'd go and look for him." + +"Is this the child? . . . All right, then, I'll carry him along for you. +Where did you leave his mother?" + +Diana led the way to where the woman was sitting, still rocking herself +to and fro in dumb misery. At the sight of the child she leapt up and +clutched him in her arms, half crazy with joy and gratitude, and a few +sympathetic tears stole down Diana's cheeks as she and her fellow-helper +moved away, leaving the mother and child together. + +The man beside her drew her arm brusquely within his. + +"You're not going near that--that hell again. Do you hear?" he said +harshly. + +His face looked white and drawn; it was smeared with dirt, and his +clothes were torn and dishevelled. Here and there his coat was stained +with dark, wet patches. Diana shuddered a little, guessing what those +patches were. + +"_You've_ been helping!" she burst out passionately. "Did you want me to +sit still and do nothing while--while that is going on just below?" And +she pointed to where the injured were being borne along on roughly +improvised stretchers. A sob climbed to her throat and her voice shook +as she continued: "I was safe, you see, thanks to you. And--and I felt +I must go and help a little, if I could." + +"Yes--I suppose you would feel that," he acknowledged, a sort of grudging +approval in his tones. "But there's nothing more one can do now. An +emergency train is coming soon and then we shall get away--those that are +left of us. But what's this?"--he felt her sleeve--"Your arm is all +wet." He pushed up the loose coat-sleeve and swung the light of his +lantern upon the thin silk of her blouse beneath it. It was caked with +blood, while a trickle of red still oozed slowly from under the wristband +and ran down over her hand. + +"You're hurt! Why didn't you tell me?" + +"It's nothing," she answered. "I cut it against the glass of the +carriage window. It doesn't hurt much." + +"Let me look at it. Here, take the lantern." + +Diana obeyed, laughing a little nervously, and he turned back her sleeve, +exposing a nasty red gash on the slender arm. It was only a surface +wound however, and hastily procuring some water he bathed it and tied it +up with his handkerchief. + +"There, I think that'll be all right now," he said, pulling down her +sleeve once more and fastening the wristband with deft fingers. "The +emergency train will be here directly, so I'm going back to our +compartment to pick up your belongings. I can climb in, I fancy. What +did you leave behind?" + +Diana laughed. + +"What a practical man you are! Fancy thinking of such things as a +forgotten coat and a dressing-bag when we've just escaped with our lives!" + +"Well, you may as well have them," he returned gruffly. "Wait here." +And he disappeared into the darkness, returning presently with the +various odds and ends which she had left in the carriage. + +Soon afterwards the emergency train came up, and those who could took +their places, whilst the injured were lifted by kindly, careful hands +into the ambulance compartment. The train drew slowly away from the +scene of the accident, gradually gathering speed, and Diana, worn out +with strain and excitement, dozed fitfully to the rhythmic rumbling of +the wheels. + +She woke with a start to find that the train was slowing down and her +companion gathering his belongings together preparatory to departure. +She sprang up and slipping off the overcoat she was still wearing, handed +it back to him. He seemed reluctant to take it from her. + +"Shall you be warm enough?" he asked doubtfully. + +"Oh, yes. It's only half-an-hour's run from here to Craiford Junction, +and there they'll meet me with plenty of wraps." She hesitated a moment, +then went on shyly: "I can't thank you properly for all you've done." + +"Don't," he said curtly. "It was little enough. But I'm glad I was +there." + +The train came to a standstill, and she held out her hand. + +"Good-bye," she said, very low. + +He wrung her hand, and, releasing it abruptly, lifted his hat and +disappeared amid the throng of people on the platform. And it was not +until the train had steamed out of the station again that she remembered +that she did not even know his name. + +Very slowly she unknotted the handkerchief from about her arm, and laying +the blood-stained square of linen on her knee, proceeded to examine each +corner carefully. In one of them she found the initials M.E., very +finely worked. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +CRAILING RECTORY + +The early morning mist still lingered in the valleys and clung about +the river banks as the Reverend Alan Stair, returning from his +matutinal dip in the sea, swung up the lane and pushed open the door +giving access from it to the Rectory grounds. The little wooden door, +painted green and overhung with ivy, was never bolted. In the +primitive Devon village of Crailing such a precaution would have been +deemed entirely superfluous; indeed, the locking of the door would +probably have been regarded by the villagers as equivalent to a +reflection on their honesty, and should the passage of time ultimately +bring to the ancient rectory a fresh parson, obsessed by conventional +opinion concerning the uses of bolts and bars, it is probable that the +inhabitants of Crailing will manifest their disapproval in the simple +and direct fashion of the Devon rustic--by placidly boycotting the +church of their fathers and betaking themselves to the chapel round the +corner. The little green door, innocent of lock and key, stood as a +symbol of the close ties that bound the rector and his flock together, +and woe betide the iconoclast who should venture to tamper with it. + +The Rectory itself was a picturesque old house with latticed windows +and thatched roof; the climbing roses, which in summer clothed it in a +garment of crimson and pink and white, now shrouded its walls with a +network of brown stems and twigs tipped with emerald buds. Beneath the +warmth of the morning sun the damp was steaming from the +weather-stained thatch in a cloud of pearly mist, while the starlings, +nesting under the overhanging eaves, broke into a harsh twittering of +alarm at the sound of the Rectory footsteps. + +Alan Stair was a big, loose-limbed son of Anak, with little of the +conventional cleric in his appearance as he came striding across the +dewy lawn, clad in a disreputable old suit of grey tweeds and with his +bathing-towel slung around his shoulders. His hands were thrust deep +into his pockets, and since he had characteristically omitted to +provide himself with a hat, his abundant brown hair was rumpled and +tossed by the wind, giving him an absurdly boyish air. + +Arrived at the flagged path which ran the whole length of the house he +sent up a Jovian shout, loud enough to arouse the most confirmed of +sluggards from his slumbers, and one of the upper lattice windows flew +open in response. + +"That you, Dad?" called a fresh young voice. + +"Sounds like it, doesn't it?" he laughed back. "Come down and give me +my breakfast. There's a beautifully assorted smell of coffee and fried +bacon wafting out from the dining room, and I can't bear it any longer." + +An unfeeling giggle from above was the only answer, and the Reverend +Alan made his way into the house, pausing to sling his bath-towel +picturesquely over one of the pegs of the hat-stand as he passed +through the hall. + +He was incurably disorderly, and only the strenuous efforts of his +daughter Joan kept the habit within bounds. Since the death of her +mother, nearly ten years ago, she had striven to fill her place and to +be to this lovable, grown-up boy who was her father all that his adored +young wife had been. And so far as material matters were concerned, +she had succeeded. She it was who usually found the MS. of his sermon +when, just as the bells were calling to service, he would come leaping +up the stairs, three at a time, to inform her tragically that it was +lost; she who saw to it that his meals were not forgotten in the +exigencies of his parish work, and who supervised his outward man to +the last detail--otherwise, in one of his frequent fits of +absent-mindedness, he would have been quite capable of presenting +himself at church in the identical grey tweeds he was now wearing. + +Yet notwithstanding the irrepressible note of youth about him, which +called forth a species of "mothering" from every woman of his +acquaintance, Alan Stair was a man to whom people instinctively turned +for counsel. A child in the material things of this world, he was a +giant in spiritual development--broad-minded and tolerant, his religion +spiced with a sense of humour and deepened by a sympathetic +understanding of frail human nature. And it was to him that Ralph +Quentin, when on his death-bed, had confided the care of his motherless +little daughter, Diana, appointing him her sole guardian and trustee. + +The two men had been friends from boyhood, and perhaps no one had +better understood than Ralph, who had earlier suffered a similar loss, +the terrible blank which the death of his wife had occasioned in +Stair's life. The fellowship of suffering had drawn the two men +together in a way that nothing else could have done, so that when +Quentin made known his final wishes concerning his daughter, Alan Stair +had gladly accepted the charge laid upon him, and Diana, then a child +of ten, had made her permanent home at Crailing Rectory, speedily +coming to look upon her guardian as a beloved elder brother, and upon +his daughter, who was but two years her senior, as her greatest friend. + +From the point of view of the Stairs themselves, the arrangement was +not without its material advantages. Diana had inherited three hundred +a year of her own, and the sum she contributed to "cover the cost of +her upkeep," as she laughingly termed it when she was old enough to +understand financial matters, was a very welcome addition to the +slender resources provided by the value of the living. + +But even had the circumstances been quite other than they were, so that +the fulfilment of Ralph Quentin's last behest, instead of being an +assistance to the household exchequer, had proved to be a drain upon +it, Alan Stair would have acted in precisely the same way--for the +simple reason that there was never any limit to his large conception of +the meaning of the word friendship and of its liabilities. + +Diana had speedily carved for herself a niche of her own in the Rectory +household, so that when the exigencies of her musical training, as +viewed through Carlo Baroni's eyes, had necessitated her departure from +Crailing for a whole year, Stair and his daughter had felt her absence +keenly, and they welcomed her back with open arms. + +The account of the railway accident which had attended her homeward +journey had filled them with anxiety lest she should suffer from the +effects of shock, and they had insisted that she should breakfast in +bed this first morning of her arrival, inclining to treat her rather as +though she were a semi-invalid. + +"Have you been to see Diana?" asked Stair anxiously, as his daughter +joined him in the dining-room. + +She shook her head. + +"No need. Diana's been in to see me! There's no breakfast in bed +about her; she'll be down directly. Even her arm doesn't pain her +much." + +Stair laughed. + +"What a girl it is!" he exclaimed. "One would have expected her to +feel a bit shaken up after her experience yesterday." + +"I fancy something else must have happened beside the railway +accident," observed Joan wisely. "Something interesting enough to have +outweighed the shock of the smash-up. She's in quite absurdly good +spirits for some unknown reason." + +The Rector chuckled. + +"Perhaps a gallant rescuer was added to the experience, eh?" he said. + +"Perhaps so," replied his daughter, faintly smiling as she proceeded to +pour out the coffee. + +Jean Stair was a typical English country girl, strictly tailor-made in +her appearance, with a predisposition towards stiff linen collars and +neat ties. In figure she was slight almost to boyishness and she had +no pretensions whatever to good looks, but there was nevertheless +something frank and wholesome and sweet about her--something of the +charm of a nice boy--that counterbalanced her undeniable plainness. As +she had once told Diana: "I'm not beautiful, so I'm obliged to be good. +You're not compelled, by the same necessity, and I may yet see you +sliding down the primrose path, whereas I shall inevitably end my days +in the odour of sanctity--probably a parish worker to some celibate +vicar!" + +The Rector and Joan were half-way through their breakfast when a light +step sounded in the hall outside, and a minute later the door flew open +to admit Diana. + +"Good morning, dear people," she exclaimed gaily. "Am I late? It +looks like it from the devastated appearance of the bacon dish. Pobs, +you've eaten all the breakfast!" And, she dropped, a light kiss on the +top of the Rector's head. "Ugh! Your hair's all wet with sea-water. +Why don't you dry yourself when you take a bath, Pobs dear? I'll come +with you to-morrow--not to dry you, I mean, but just to bathe." + +Stair surveyed her with a twinkle as he retrieved her plate of kidneys +and bacon from the hearth where it had been set down to keep hot. + +"Diana, I regret to observe that your conversation lacks the flavour of +respectability demanded by your present circumstances," he remarked. +"I fear you'll never be an ornament to any clerical household." + +"No. _Pas mon métier_. Respectability isn't in the least a _sine qua +non_ for a prima donna--far from it!" + +Stair chuckled. + +"To hear you talk, no one would imagine that in reality you were the +most conventional of prudes," he flung at her. + +"Oh, but I'm growing out of it," she returned hopefully. "Yesterday, +for instance, I palled up with a perfectly strange young man. We +conversed together as though we had known each other all our lives, +shared the same table for dinner--" + +"You didn't?" broke in Joan, a trifle shocked. + +Diana nodded serenely. + +"Indeed I did. And what was the reward of my misdeeds? Why, there he +was at hand to save me when the smash came!" + +"Who was he?" asked Joan curiously. "Any one from this part of the +world?" + +"I haven't the faintest idea," replied Diana. "I actually never +inquired to whom I was indebted for my life and the various other +trifles which he rescued for me from the wreck of our compartment. The +only clue I have is the handkerchief he bound round my arm. It's very +bluggy and it's marked M.E." + +"M.E.," repeated the Rector. "Well, there must be plenty of M.E.'s in +the world. Did he get out at Craiford?" + +"He didn't," said Diana. "No; at present he is 'wropt in mist'ry,' but +I feel sure we shall run up against each other again. I told him so." + +"Did you, indeed?" Stair laughed. "And was he pleased at the prospect?" + +"Well, frankly, Pobs, I can't say he seemed enraptured. On the +contrary, he appeared to regard it in the light of a highly improbable +and quite undesirable contingency." + +"He must be lacking in appreciation," murmured Stair mockingly, +pinching her cheek as he passed her on his way to select a pipe from +the array that adorned the chimney-piece. + +"Are you going 'parishing' this morning?" inquired Diana, as she +watched him fill and light his pipe. + +"Yes, I promised to visit Susan Gurney--she's laid up with rheumatism, +poor old soul." + +"Then I'll drive you, shall I? I suppose you've still got Tommy and +the ralli-cart?" + +"Yes," replied Stair gravely. "Notwithstanding diminishing tithes and +increasing taxes, Tommy is still left to us. Apparently he thrives on +a penurious diet, for he is fatter than ever." + +Accordingly, half an hour later, the two set out behind the fat pony on +a round of parochial visits. Underneath the seat of the trap reposed +the numerous little packages of tea and tobacco with which the Rector, +whose hand was always in his pocket, rarely omitted to season his +visits to the sick among his parishioners. + +"And why not?" he would say, when charged with pampering them by some +starchy member of his congregation who considered that parochial +visitation should be embellished solely by the delivery of appropriate +tracts. "And why not pamper them a bit, poor souls? A pipe of baccy +goes a long way towards taking your thoughts off a bad leg--as I found +out for myself when I was laid up with an attack of the gout my +maternal grandfather bequeathed me." + +Whilst the Rector paid his visits, Diana waited outside the various +cottages, driving the pony-trap slowly up and down the road, and +stopping every now and again to exchange a few words with one or +another of the village folk as they passed. + +She was frankly delighted to be home again, and was experiencing that +peculiar charm of the Devonshire village which lies in the fact that +you may go away from it for several years and return to find it almost +unchanged. In the wilds of Devon affairs move leisurely, and such +changes as do occur creep in so gradually as to be almost +imperceptible. No brand-new houses start into existence with +lightning-like rapidity, for the all-sufficient reason that in such +sparsely populated districts the enterprising builder would stand an +excellent chance of having his attractive villa residences left empty +on his hands. No; new houses are built to order, if at all. In the +same way, it is rare to find a fresh shop spring into being in a small +village, and should it happen, in all probability a year or two will +see the shutters up and the disgruntled proprietor departing in search +of pastures new. For the villagers who have always dealt with the +local butcher, baker, and grocer, and whose fathers have probably dealt +with their fathers before them, are not easily to be cajoled into +transferring their custom--and certainly not to the establishment of +any one who has had the misfortune to be born outside the confines of +the county, and is therefore to be briefly summed up in the one damning +word "vurriner." [1] + +So that Diana, returning to Crailing for a brief holiday after a year's +absence, found the tiny fishing village quite unchanged, and this fact +imparted an air almost of unreality to the twelve busy, eventful months +which had intervened. She felt as if she had never been away, as +though the Diana Quentin who had been living in London and studying +singing under the greatest master of the day were some one quite apart +from the girl who had passed so many quiet, happy years at Crailing +Rectory. + +The new and unaccustomed student's life, the two golden visits which +she had paid to Italy, the introduction into a milieu of clever, gifted +people all struggling to make the most of their talents, had been such +an immense change from the placid, humdrum existence which had preceded +it, that it still held for her an almost dreamlike charm of novelty, +and this was intensified at the present moment by her return to +Crailing to find everything going on just in the same old way, +precisely as though there had been no break at all. + +As though to convince herself that the student life in London was a +substantial reality, and not a mere figment of the imagination, she +hummed a few bars of a song, and as she listened to the deep, rich +notes of her voice, poised with that sureness which only comes of +first-class training, she smiled a little, reflecting that if nothing +else had changed, here at least was a palpable outcome of that +dreamlike year. + +"Bravo!" The Rector's cheery tones broke in upon her thoughts as he +came out from a neighbouring gateway and swung himself up into the trap +beside her. "Di, I've got to hear that voice before long. What does +Signor Baroni say about it?" + +"Oh, I think he's quite pleased," she answered, whipping up the fat +pony, who responded reluctantly. "But he's a fearful martinet. He +nearly frightens me to death when he gets into one of his royal Italian +rages--though he's always particularly sweet afterwards! Pobs, I +wonder who my man in the train was?" she added inconsequently. + +The Rector looked at her narrowly. He had wondered more than a little +why the shock of the railway accident had apparently affected her so +slightly, and although he had joked with Joan about some possible +"gallant rescuer" who might have diverted her thoughts he had really +attributed it partly to the youthful resiliency of Diana's nature, and +partly to the fact that when one has narrowly escaped a serious injury, +or death itself, the sense of relief is so intense as frequently to +overpower for the moment every other feeling. + +But now he was thrown back on the gallant rescuer theory; obviously the +man, whoever he was, had impressed himself rather forcibly on Diana's +mind, and the Rector acknowledged that this was almost inevitable from +the circumstances in which they had been thrown together. + +"You know," continued the girl, "I'm certain I've seen him before--the +day I first went to Baroni to have my voice tested. It was in +Grellingham Place, and all my songs blew away up the street, and I'm +positive M.E. was the man who rescued them for me." + +"Rescuing seems to be his hobby," commented the Rector dryly. "Did you +remind him that you had met before?" + +"Yes, and he wouldn't recollect it." + +"_Wouldn't_?" + +"No, wouldn't. I have a distinct feeling that he did remember all +about it, and did recognise me again, but he wouldn't acknowledge it +and politely assured me I must be mistaken." + +The Rector smiled. + +"Perhaps he has a prejudice against making the promiscuous acquaintance +of beautiful young women in trains." + +Diana sniffed. + +"Oh, well, if he didn't think I was good enough to know--" She +paused. "He _had_ rather a superior way with him, a sort of +independent, lordly manner, as though no one had a right to question +anything he chose to do. And he was in a first-class reserved +compartment too." + +"Oh, was he? And did you force your way into his reserved compartment, +may I ask?" + +Diana giggled. + +"I didn't force my way into it; I was pitchforked in by a porter. The +train was packed, and I was late. Of course I offered to go and find +another seat, but there wasn't one anywhere." + +"So the young man yielded to _force majeure_ and allowed you to travel +with him?" said the Rector, adding seriously: "I'm very thankful he +did. To think of you--alone--in that awful smash! . . . This +morning's paper says there were forty people killed." + +Diana gave a little nervous shiver, and then quite suddenly began to +cry. + +Stair quietly took the reins from her hand, and patted her shoulder, +but he made no effort to check her tears. He had felt worried all +morning by her curious detachment concerning the accident; it was +unnatural, and he feared that later on the shock which she must have +received might reveal itself in some abnormal nervousness regarding +railway travelling. These tears would bring relief, and he welcomed +them, allowing her to cry, comfortably leaning against his shoulder, as +the pony meandered up the hilly lane which led to the Rectory. + +At the gates they both descended from the trap, and Stair was preparing +to lead the pony into the stable-yard when Diana suddenly flung her +arms round him, kissing him impulsively. + +"Oh, Pobs, dear," she said half-laughing, half-crying. "You're such a +darling--you always understand everything. I feel heaps better now, +thank you." + + +[1] Anglice: foreigner. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE SECOND MEETING + +Diana threw hack the bedclothes and thrust an extremely pretty but +reluctant foot over the edge of the bed. She did not experience in the +least that sensation of exhilaration with which the idea of getting up +invariably seems to inspire the heroine of a novel, prompting her to +spring lightly from her couch and trip across to the window to see what +sort of weather the author has provided. On the contrary, she was +sorely tempted to snuggle down again amongst the pillows, but the +knowledge that it wanted only half an hour to breakfast-time exercised +a deterrent influence and she made her way with all haste to the +bath-room, somewhat shamefully pleased to reflect that, being Easter +Sunday, Pobs would be officiating at the early service, so that she +would escape the long trudge down to the sea with him for their usual +morning swim. + +By the time she had bathed and dressed, however, she felt better able +to face the day with a cheerful spirit, and the sun, streaming in +through the diamond panes of her window, added a last vivifying touch +and finally sent her downstairs on the best of terms with herself and +the world at large. + +There was no one about, as Joan had accompanied her father to church, +so Diana sauntered out on to the flagged path and paced idly up and +down, waiting for their return. The square, grey tower of the church, +hardly more than a stone's throw distant from the Rectory, was visible +through a gap in the trees where a short cut, known as the "church +path" wound its way through the copse that hedged the garden. It was +an ancient little church, boasting a very beautiful thirteenth century +window, which, in a Philistine past, had been built up and rough-cast +outside, and had only been discovered in the course of some repairs +that were being made to one of the walls. The inhabitants of Crailing +were very proud of that thirteenth century window when it was +disinterred; they had a proprietary feeling about it--since, after all, +it had really belonged to them for a little matter of seven centuries +or so, although they had been unaware of the fact. + +Below the slope of the Rectory grounds the thatched roofs of the +village bobbed into view, some gleaming golden in all the pride of +recent thatching, others with their crown of straw mellowed by sun and +rain to a deeper colour and patched with clumps of moss, vividly green +as an emerald. + +The village itself straggled down to the edge of the sea in untidy +fashion, its cob-walled cottages in some places huddling together as +though for company, in others standing far apart, with spaces of waste +land between them where you might often see the women sitting mending +the fishing nets and gossiping together as they worked. + +Diana's eyes wandered affectionately over the picturesque little +houses; she loved every quaint, thatched roof among them, but more than +all she loved the glimpse of the sea that lay beyond them, pierced by +the bold headland of red sandstone, Culver Point, which thrust itself +into the blue of the water like an arm stretched out to shelter the +little village nestling in its curve from the storms of the Atlantic. + +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. + +"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 +something very delightful is going to happen to me to-day--though, to +be sure, Sunday isn't usually a day when exciting things occur." + +"Dreams generally go by contraries," observed Joan sagely. "And I +rather think the same applies to presentiments. I know that whenever I +have felt a comfortable assurance that everything was going smoothly, +it has generally been followed by one of the servants giving notice, or +the bursting of the kitchen boiler, or something equally disagreeable." + +Diana gurgled unfeelingly. + +"Oh, those are merely the commonplaces of existence," she replied. "I +was meaning"--waving her hand expansively--"big things." + +"And when you've got your own house, my dear," retorted Joan, "you'll +find those commonplaces of existence assume alarmingly big proportions." + +Soon after Stair had finished his after-breakfast pipe, the chiming of +the bells announced that it was time to prepare for church. The +Rectory pew was situated close to the pulpit, at right angles to the +body of the church, and Diana and Joan took their places one at either +end of it. As the former was wont to remark: "It's such a comfort when +there's no competition for the corner seats." + +The organ had ceased playing, and the words "_Dearly beloved_" had +already fallen from the Rector's lips, when the churchdoor opened once +again to admit some late arrivals. Instinctively Diana looked up from +her prayer-book, and, as her glance fell upon the newcomers, the pupils +of her eyes dilated until they looked almost black, while a wave of +colour rushed over her face, dyeing it scarlet from brow to throat. + +Two ladies were coming up the aisle, the one bordering on middle age, +the other young and of uncommon beauty, but it was upon neither of +these that Diana's startled eyes were fixed. Behind them, and +evidently of their party, came a tall, fair man whose supple length of +limb and very blue eyes sent a little thrill of recognition through her +veins. + +It was her fellow-traveller of that memorable journey down from town! + +She closed her eyes a moment. Once again she could hear the horrifying +crash as the engine hurled itself against the track that blocked the +metals, feel the swift pall of darkness close about her, rife with a +thousand terrors, and then, out of that hideous night, the grip of +strong arms folded round her, and a voice, harsh with fear, beating +against her ears: + +"Are you hurt? . . . My God, are you hurt?" + +When she opened her eyes again, the little party of three had taken +their places and were composedly following the service. Apparently he +had not seen her, and Diana shrank a little closer into the friendly +shadow of the pulpit, feeling for the moment an odd, nervous fear of +encountering his eyes. + +But she soon realised that she need not have been alarmed. He was +evidently quite unaware of her proximity, for his glance never once +strayed in her direction, and, gradually gaining courage as she +appreciated this, Diana ventured to let her eyes turn frequently during +the service towards the pew where the newcomers were sitting. + +That they were strangers to the neighbourhood she was sure; she had +certainly never seen either of the two women before. The elder of the +two was a plump, round-faced little lady, with bright brown eyes, and +pretty, crinkly brown hair lightly powdered with grey. She was very +fashionably dressed, and the careful detail of her toilet pointed to no +lack of means. The younger woman, too, was exquisitely turned out, but +there was something so individual about her personality that it +dominated everything else, relegating her clothes to a very secondary +position. As in the case of an unusually beautiful gem, it was the +jewel itself which impressed one, rather than the setting which framed +it round. + +She was very fair, with quantities of pale golden hair rather +elaborately dressed, and her eyes were blue--not the keen, brilliant +blue of those of the man beside her, but a soft blue-grey, like the sky +on a misty summer's morning. + +Her small, exquisite features were clean-cut as a cameo, and she +carried herself with a little touch of hauteur--an air of aloofness, as +it were. There was nothing ungracious about it, but it was +unmistakably there--a slightly emphasised hint of personal dignity. + +Diana regarded her with some perplexity; the girl's face was vaguely +familiar to her, yet at the same time she felt perfectly certain that +she had never seen her before. She wondered whether she were any +relation to the man with her, but there was no particular resemblance +between the two, except that both were fair and bore themselves with a +certain subtle air of distinction that rather singled them out from +amongst their fellows. + +In repose, Diana noticed, the man's face was grave almost to sternness, +and there was a slightly worn look about it as of one who had passed +through some fiery discipline of experience and had forced himself to +meet its demands. The lines around the mouth, and the firm closing of +the lips, held a suggestion of suffering, but there was no rebellion in +the face, rather a look of inflexible endurance. + +Diana wondered what lay behind that curiously controlled expression, +and the memory of certain words he had let fall during their journey +together suddenly recurred to her with a new significance attached to +them. . . . "Just as though we had any too many pleasures in life!" he +had said. And again: "Oh, for that! If we could have what we wanted +in this world! . . ." + +Uttered in his light, half-bantering tones, the bitter flavour of the +words had passed her by, but now, as she studied the rather stern set +of his features, they returned to her with fresh meaning and she felt +that their mocking philosophy was to a certain extent indicative of the +man's attitude towards life. + +So absorbed was she in her thoughts that the stir and rustle of the +congregation issuing from their seats at the conclusion of the service +came upon her in the light of a surprise; she had not realised that the +service--in which she had been taking a reprehensible perfunctory +part--had drawn to its close, and she almost jumped when Joan nudged +her unobtrusively and whispered:-- + +"Come along. I believe you're half asleep." + +She shook her head, smiling, and gathering up her gloves and +prayer-book, she followed Joan down the aisle and out into the +churchyard where people were standing about in little groups, +exchanging the time of day with that air of a renewal of interest in +worldly topics which synchronises with the end of Lent. + +The Rector had not yet appeared, and as Joan was chatting with Mrs. +Mowbray, the local doctor's wife, Diana, who had an intense dislike for +Mrs. Mowbray and all her works--there were six of the latter, ranging +from a lanky girl of twelve to a fat baby still in the perambulator +stage--made her way out of the churchyard and stood waiting by the +beautiful old lichgate, which, equally with the thirteenth century +window, was a source of pride and satisfaction to the good folk of +Crailing. + +A big limousine had pulled up beside the footpath, and an immaculate +footman was standing by its open door, rug in hand. Diana wondered +idly whose car it could be, and it occurred to her that very probably +it belonged to the strangers who had attended the service that morning. + +A minute later her assumption was confirmed, as the middle-aged lady, +followed by the young, pretty one, came quickly through the lichgate +and entered the car. The footman hesitated, still holding the door +open, and the elder lady leaned forward to say:-- + +"It's all right, Baker. Mr. Errington is walking back." + +Errington! So that was his name--that was what the E. on the +handkerchief stood for! Diana thought she could hazard a reasonable +guess as to why he had elected to walk home. He must have caught sight +of her in church, after all, and it was but natural that, after the +experience they had passed through together, he should wish to renew +his acquaintance with her. When two people have been as near to death +in company as they had been, it can hardly be expected that they will +regard each other in the light of total strangers should they chance to +meet again. + +Hidden from his sight by an intervening yew tree, she watched him +coming down the church path, conscious of a somewhat pleasurable sense +of anticipation, and when he had passed under the lichgate and, turning +to the left, came face to face with her, she bowed and smiled, holding +out her hand. + +To her utter amazement he looked at her without the faintest sign of +recognition on his face, pausing only for the fraction of a second as a +man may when some stranger claims his acquaintance by mistake; then +with a murmured "Pardon!" he raised his hat slightly and passed on. + +Diana's hand dropped slowly to her side. She felt stunned. The thing +seemed incredible. Less than a week ago she and this man had travelled +companionably together in the train, dined at the same table, and +together shared the same dreadful menace which had brought death very +close to both of them, and now he passed her by with the cool stare of +an utter stranger! If he had knocked her down she would hardly have +been more astonished. + +Moreover, it was not as though her companionship had been forced upon +him in the train; he had deliberately sought it. Two people can travel +side by side without advancing a single hairsbreadth towards +acquaintance if they choose. But he had not so chosen--most assuredly +he had not. He had quietly, with a charmingly persuasive insistence, +broken through the conventions of custom, and had subsequently proved +himself as considerate and as thoughtful for her comfort as any actual +friend could have been. More than that, in those moments of tense +excitement, immediately after the collision had occurred, she could +have sworn that real feeling, genuine concern for her safety, had +vibrated in his voice. + +And now, just as deliberately, just as composedly as he had begun the +acquaintance, so he had closed it. + +Diana's cheeks burned with shame. She felt humiliated. Evidently he +had regarded her merely as some one with whom it might he agreeable to +idle away the tedium of a journey--but that was all. It was obviously +his intention that that should be the beginning and the end of it. + +In a dream she crossed the road and, opening the gate that admitted to +the "church path," made her way home alone. She felt she must have a +few minutes to herself before she faced the Rector and Joan at the +Rectory mid-day dinner. Fortunately, they were both in ignorance of +this amazing, stupefying fact that her fellow-traveller--the "gallant +rescuer" about whom Pobs had so joyously chaffed her--had signified in +the most unmistakable fashion that he wanted nothing more to do with +her, and by the time the dinner-bell sounded, Diana had herself well in +hand--so well that she was even able to ask in tones of quite casual +interest if any one knew who were the strangers in church that morning? + +"Yes, Mowbray told me," replied the Rector. "They are the new people +who have taken Red Gables--that pretty little place on the Woodway +Road. The girl is Adrienne de Gervais, the actress, and the elderly +lady is a Mrs. Adams, her chaperon." + +"Oh, then that's why her face seemed so familiar!" exclaimed Diana, a +light breaking in upon her. "I mean Miss de Gervais'--not the +chaperon's. Of course I must have seen her picture in the illustrated +papers dozens of times." + +"And the man who was with them is Max Errington, who writes nearly all +the plays in which she takes part," chimed in Joan. "He's supposed to +be in love with her. That piece of information I acquired from Mrs. +Mowbray." + +"I detest Mrs. Mowbray," said Diana, with sudden viciousness. "She's +the sort of person who has nothing whatever to talk about and spends +hours doing it." + +The others laughed. + +"She's rather a gas-bag, I must admit," acknowledged Stair. "But, you +know, a country doctor's wife is usually the emporium for all the local +gossip. It's expected of her." + +"Then I'm sure Mrs. Mowbray will never disappoint any one. She fully +comes up to expectations," observed Diana grimly. + +"I suppose we shall have to call on these new people at Red Gables, +Dad?" asked Joan, after a brief interval. + +Diana bent her head suddenly over her plate to hide the scarlet flush +which flew into her cheeks at the suggestion. She would _not_ call +upon them--a thousand times no! Max Errington had shown her very +distinctly in what estimation he held the honour of her friendship, and +he should never have the chance of believing she had tried to thrust it +on him. + +"Well"--the Rector was replying leisurely to Joan's inquiry--"I +understand they are only going to be at Red Gables now and then--when +Miss de Gervais wants a rest from her professional work, I expect. But +still, as they have come to our church and are strangers in the +district, it would perhaps be neighbourly to call, wouldn't it?" + +"Can't you call on them, Pobs?" suggested Diana, "A sort of 'rectorial' +visit, you know. That would surely be sufficient." + +The Sector hesitated. + +"I don't know about that, Di. Don't you think it would look rather +unfriendly on the part of you girls? Rather snubby, eh?" + +That was precisely what Diana, had thought, and the reflection had +afforded her no small satisfaction. She wanted to hit back--and hit +hard--and now Pobs' kindly, hospitable nature was unconsciously putting +the brake on the wheel of retribution. + +She shrugged her shoulders with an air of indifference. + +"Oh, well, you and Joan can call. I don't think actresses, and authors +who love them and write plays for them, are much in my line," she +replied distantly. + +It would seem as though Joan's dictum that presentiments, like dreams, +go by contraries, had been founded upon the rock of experience, for, in +truth, Diana's premonition that something delightful was about to +happen to her had been fulfilled in a sorry fashion. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE AFTERMATH OF AN ADVENTURE + +Diana awoke with a start. Before sleep had overtaken her she had been +lying on a shallow slope of sand, leaning against a rock, with her elbow +resting on its flat surface and her book propped up in front of her. +Gradually the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves on the shore had lulled +her into slumber--the _plop_ as they broke in eddies of creaming foam, +and then the sibilant _hush-sh-sh_--like a long-drawn sigh--as the water +receded only to gather itself afresh into a crested billow. + +Scarcely more than half awake she sat up and stared about her, dreamily +wondering how she came to be there. She felt very stiff, and the arm on +which she had been leaning ached horribly. She rubbed it a little, dully +conscious of the pain, and as the blood began to course through the veins +again, the sharp, pricking sensation commonly known as "pins and needles" +aroused her effectually, and she recollected that she had walked out to +Culver Point and established herself in one of the numerous little bays +that fringed the foot of the great red cliff, intending to spend a +pleasant afternoon in company with a new novel. And then the Dustman +(idling about until his duties proper should commence in the evening) had +come by and touched her eyelids and she had fallen fast asleep. + +But she was thoroughly wide awake now, and she looked round her with a +rather startled expression, realising that she must have slept for some +considerable time, for the sun, which had been high in the heavens, had +already dipped towards the horizon and was shedding a rosy track of light +across the surface of the water. The tide, too, had come up a long way +since she had dozed off into slumber, and waves were now breaking only a +few yards distant from her feet. + +She cast a hasty glance to right and left, where the arms of the little +cove stretched out to meet the sea, strewn with big boulders clothed in +shell and seaweed. But there were no rocks to be seen. The grey water +was lapping lazily against the surface of the cliff itself and she was +cut off on either side. + +For a minute or so her heart beat unpleasantly fast; then, with a quick +sense of relief, she recollected that only at spring tides was the little +bay where she stood entirely under water. There was no danger, she +reflected, but nevertheless her position was decidedly unenviable. It +was not yet high tide, so it would be some hours at least before she +would be able to make her way home, and meanwhile the sun was sinking +fast, it was growing unpleasantly cold, and she was decidedly hungry. In +the course of another hour or two she would probably be hungrier still, +but with no nearer prospect of dinner, while the Rector and Joan would be +consumed with anxiety as to what had become of her. + +Anxiously she scanned the sea, hoping she might sight some homing +fishing-boat which she could hail, but no welcome red or brown sail broke +the monotonous grey waste of water, and in hopes of warming herself a +little she began to walk briskly up and down the little beach still +keeping a sharp look-out at sea for any passing boat. + +An interminable hour crawled by. The sun dipped a little lower, flinging +long streamers of scarlet and gold across the sea. Far in the blue vault +of the sky a single star twinkled into view, while a little sighing +breeze arose and whispered of coming night. + +Diana shivered in her thin blouse. She had brought no coat with her, +and, now that the mist was rising, she felt chilled to the bone, and she +heartily anathematised her carelessness for getting into such a scrape. + +And then, all at once, across the water came the welcome sound of a human +voice:-- + +"Ahoy! Ahoy there!" + +A small brown boat and the figure of the man in it, resting on his oars, +showed sharply etched against the background of the sunset sky. + +Diana waved her handkerchief wildly and the man waved back, promptly +setting the boat with her nose towards the chore and sculling with long, +rhythmic strokes that speedily lessened the distance between him and the +eager figure waiting at the water's edge. + +As he drew nearer, Diana was struck by something oddly familiar in his +appearance, and when he glanced back over his shoulder to gauge his +distance from the shore, she recognised with a sudden shocked sense of +dismay that the man in the boat was none other than Max Errington! + +She retreated a few steps hastily, and stood, waiting, tense with misery +and discomfort. Had it still been possible she would have signalled to +him to go on and leave her; the bare thought of being indebted to him--to +this man who had coolly cut her in the street--for escape from her +present predicament filled her with helpless rage. + +But it was too late. Errington gave a final pull, shipped his oars, and, +as the boat rode in on the top of a wave, leaped out on the shore and +beached her safely. Then he turned and strode towards Diana, his face +wearing just that same concerned, half-angry look that it had done when +he found her, shortly after the railway collision, trying to help the +woman who had lost her child. + +"What in the name of heaven and earth are you doing here?" he demanded +brusquely. + +Apparently he had entirely forgotten the more recent episode of Easter +Sunday and was prepared to scold her roundly, exactly as he had done on +that same former occasion. The humour of the situation suddenly caught +hold of Diana, and for the moment she, too, forgot that she had reason to +be bitterly offended with this man. + +"Waiting for you to rescue me--as usual," she retorted frivolously. "You +seem to be making quite a habit of it." + +He smiled grimly. + +"I'm making a virtue of necessity," he flung back at her. "What on earth +do your people mean by letting you roam about by yourself like this? +You're not fit to be alone! As though a railway accident weren't +sufficient excitement for any average woman, you must needs try to drown +yourself. Are you so particularly anxious to get quit of this world?" + +"Drown myself?" she returned scornfully. "How could I--when the sea +doesn't come up within a dozen yards of the cliff except at spring tide?" + +"And I suppose it hadn't occurred to you that this is a spring tide?" he +said drily. "In another hour or so there'll be six feet of water where +we're standing now." + +The abrupt realisation that once again she had escaped death by so narrow +a margin shook her for a moment, and she swayed a little where she stood, +while her face went suddenly very white. + +In an instant his arm was round her, supporting her. "I oughtn't to have +told you," he said hastily. "Forgive me. You're tired--and, merciful +heavens! child, you're half-frozen. Your teeth are chattering with cold." + +He stripped off his coat and made as though to help her on with it. + +"No--no," she protested. "I shall be quite warm directly. Please put on +your coat again." + +He shook his head, smiling down at her, and taking first one of her arms, +and then the other, he thrust them into the empty sleeves, putting the +coat on her as one would dress a child. + +"I'm used to having my own way," he observed coolly, as he proceeded to +button it round her. + +"But you?--" she faltered, looking at the thin silk of his shirt. + +"I'm not a lady with a beautiful voice that must be taken care of. What +would Signor Baroni say to this afternoon's exploit?" + +"Oh, then you haven't forgotten?" Diana asked curiously. + +The intensely blue eyes swept over her face. + +"No," he replied shortly, "I haven't forgotten." + +In silence he helped her into the boat, and she sat quietly in the stern +as he bent to his oars and sent the little skiff speeding homewards +towards the harbour. + +She felt strangely content. The fact that he had deliberately refused to +recognise her seemed a matter of very small moment now that he had spoken +to her again--scolding her and enforcing her obedience to his wishes in +that oddly masterful way of his, which yet had something of a possessive +tenderness about it that appealed irresistibly to the woman in her. + +Arrived at the quay of the little harbour, he helped her up the steps, +slimy with weed and worn by the ceaseless lapping of the water, and the +firm clasp of his hand on hers conveyed a curious sense of security, +extending beyond just the mere safety of the moment. She had a feeling +that there was something immutably strong and sure about this man--a +calm, steadfast self-reliance to which one could unhesitatingly trust. + +His voice broke in abruptly on her thoughts. + +"My car's waiting at the quayside," he said. "I shall drive you back to +the Rectory." + +Diana assented--not, as she thought to herself with a somewhat wry smile, +that it would have made the very slightest difference had she refused +point-blank. Since he had decided that she was to travel in his car, +travel in it she would, willy-nilly. But as a matter of fact, she was so +tired that she was only too thankful to sink back on to the soft, +luxurious cushions of the big limousine. + +Errington tucked the rugs carefully round her, substituting one of them +for the coat she was wearing, spoke a few words to the chauffeur, and +then seated himself opposite her. + +Diana thought the car seemed to be travelling rather slowly as it began +the steep ascent from the harbour to the Rectory. Possibly the chauffeur +who had taken his master's instructions might have thrown some light on +the subject had he so chosen. + +"Quite warm now?" queried Errington. + +Diana snuggled luxuriously into her corner. + +"Quite, thanks," she replied. "You're rapidly qualifying as a good +Samaritan _par excellence_, thanks to the constant opportunities I afford +you." + +He laughed shortly and relapsed into silence, leaning his elbow on the +cushioned ledge beside him and shading his face with his hand. Beneath +its shelter, the keen blue eyes stared at the girl opposite with an odd, +thwarted expression in their depths. + +Presently Diana spoke again, a tinge of irony in her tones. + +"And--after this--when next we meet . . . are you going to cut me again? +. . . It must have been very tiresome for you, that an unkind fate +insisted on your making my closer acquaintance." + +He dropped his hand suddenly. + +"Oh, forgive me!" he exclaimed, with a quick gesture of deprecation. +"It--it was unpardonable of me . . ." His voice vibrated with some +strong emotion, and Diana regarded him curiously. + +"Then you meant it?" she said slowly. "It was deliberate?" + +He bent his head affirmatively. + +"Yes," he replied. "I suppose you think it unforgivable. And yet--and +yet it would have been better so." + +"Better? But why? I'm generally"--dimpling a little--"considered rather +nice." + +"'Rather nice'?" he repeated, in a peculiar tone. "Oh, yes--that does +not surprise me." + +"And some day," she continued gaily, "although I'm nobody just now, I may +become a really famous person--and then you might be quite happy to know +me!" + +Her eyes danced with mirth as she rallied him. + +He looked at her strangely. + +"No--it can never bring me happiness. . . _Ah, mais jamais_!" he added, +with sudden passion. + +Diana was startled. + +"It--it was horrid of you to cut me," she said in a troubled voice. + +"My punishment lies in your hands," he returned. "When I leave you at +the Rectory--after to-day--you can end our acquaintance if you choose. +And I suppose--you, _will_ choose. It would be contrary to human nature +to throw away such an excellent opportunity for retaliation--feminine +human nature, anyway." + +He spoke with a kind of half-savage raillery, and Diana winced under it. +His moods changed so rapidly that she was bewildered. At one moment +there would be an exquisite gentleness in his manner when he spoke to +her, at the next a contemptuous irony that cut like a whip. + +"Would it be--a punishment?" she asked at last. + +He checked a sudden movement towards her. + +"What do you suppose?" he said quietly. + +"I don't know what to think. If it would be a punishment, why were you +so anxious to take it out of my hands? It was you who ended our +acquaintance on Sunday, remember." + +"Yes, I know. Twice I've closed the door between us, and twice fate has +seen fit to open it again." + +"Twice? . . . Then--then it _was_ you--in Grellingham Place that day?" + +"Yes," he acknowledged simply. + +Diana bent her head to hide the small, secret smile that carved her lips. + +At last, after a pause-- + +"But why--why do you not want to know me?" she asked wonderingly. + +"Not want to?" he muttered below his breath. "God in heaven! _Not want +to_!" His hand moved restlessly. After a minute he answered her, +speaking very gently. + +"Because I think you were born to stand in the sunshine. Some of us +stand always in the shadow; it creeps about our feet, following us +wherever we go. And I would not darken the sunlit places of your life +with the shadow that clings to mine." + +There was an undercurrent of deep sadness in his tones. + +"Can't you--can't you banish the shadow?" faltered Diana. A sense of +tragedy oppressed her. "Life is surely made for happiness," she added, a +little wistfully. + +"Your life, I hope." He smiled across at her. "So don't let us talk any +more about the shadow. Only"--gently--"if I came nearer to you--the +shadow might engulf you, too." He paused, then continued more lightly: +"But if you'll forgive my barbarous incivility of Sunday, +perhaps--perhaps I may be allowed to stand just on the outskirts of your +life--watch you pass by on your road to fame, and toss a flower at your +feet when all the world and his wife are crowding to hear the new _prima +donna_." He had dropped back into the vein of light, ironical mockery +which Diana was learning to recognise as characteristic of the man. It +was like the rapier play of a skilled duellist, his weapon flashing +hither and thither, parrying every thrust of his opponent, and with +consummate ease keeping him ever at a distance. + +"I wonder"--he regarded her with an expression of amused curiosity--"I +wonder whether you would stoop to pick up my flower if I threw one? But, +no"--he answered his own question hastily, giving her no time to +reply--"you would push it contemptuously aside with the point of your +little white slipper, and say to your crowd of admirers standing around +you: 'That flower is the gift of a man--a rough boor of a man--who was +atrociously rude to me once. I don't even value it enough to pick it +up.' Whereupon every one--quite rightly, too!--would cry shame on the +man who had dared to insult so charming a lady--probably adding that if +bad luck befell him it would be no more than he deserved! . . . And I've +no doubt he'll get his desserts," he added carelessly. + +Diana felt the tears very near her eyes and her lip quivered.. This man +had the power of hurting her--wounding her to the quick--with his bitter +raillery. + +When she spoke again her voice shook a little. + +"You are wrong," she said, "quite wrong. I should pick up the flower +and"--steadily--"I should keep it, because it was thrown to me by a man +who had twice done me the greatest service in his power." + +Once again he checked, as if by sheer force of will, a sudden eager +movement towards her. + +"Would you?" he said quickly. "Would you do that? But you would be +mistaken; I should be gaining your kindness under false pretences. The +greatest service in my power would be for me to go away and never see you +again. . . . And, I can't do that--now," he added, his voice vibrating +oddly. + +His eyes held her, and at the sound of that sudden note of passion in his +tone she felt some new, indefinable emotion stir within her that was half +pain, half pleasure. Her eyelids closed, and she stretched out her hands +a little gropingly, almost as if she were trying to ward away something +that threatened her. + +There was appeal in the gesture--a pathetic, half-childish appeal, as +though the shy, virginal youth of her sensed the distant tumult of +awakening passion and would fain delay its coming. + +She was just a frank, whole-hearted girl, knowing nothing of love and its +strange, inevitable claim, but deep within her spoke that instinct, +premonition--call it what you will--which seems in some mysterious way to +warn every woman when the great miracle of love is drawing near. It is +as though Love's shadow fell across her heart and she were afraid to turn +and face him--shrinking with the terror of a trapped wild thing from +meeting his imperious demand. + +Errington, watching her, saw the childish gesture, the quiver of her +mouth, the soft fall of the shadowed lids, and with a swift, impetuous +movement he leaned forward and caught her by the arms, pulling her +towards him. Instinctively she resisted, struggling in his grip, her +eyes, wide and startled, gazing into his. + +"_Diana_!" + +The word seemed wrung from him, and as though something within her +answered to its note of urgency, she suddenly yielded, stumbling forward +on to her knees. His arms closed round her, holding her as in a vice, +and she lay there, helpless in his grasp, her head thrown back a little, +her young, slight breast fluttering beneath the thin silk of her blouse. + +For a moment he held her so, staring down, at her, his breath hard-drawn +between his teeth; then swiftly, with a stifled exclamation he stooped +his head, kissing her savagely, bruising, crushing her lips beneath his +own. + +She felt her strength going from her--it seemed as though he were drawing +her soul out from her body--and then, just as sheer consciousness itself +was wavering, he took his mouth from hers, and she could see his face, +white and strained, bent above her. + +She leaned away from him, panting a little, her shoulders against the +side of the car. + +"God!" she heard him mutter. + +For a space the throb of the motor was the only sound that broke the +stillness, but presently, after what seemed an eternity, he raised her +from the floor, where she still knelt inertly, and set her on the seat +again. She submitted passively. + +When he had resumed his place, he spoke in dry, level tones. + +"I suppose I'm damned beyond forgiveness after this?" + +She made no answer. She was listening with a curious fascination to the +throb of her heart and the measured beat of the engine; the two seemed to +meet and mingle into one great pulse, thundering against her tired brain. + +"Diana"--he spoke again, still in the same toneless voice--"am I to be +forbidden even the outskirts of your life now?" + +She moved her head restlessly. + +"I don't know--oh, I don't know," she whispered. + +She was utterly spent and exhausted. Unconsciously every nerve in her +had responded to the fierce passion of that suffocating kiss, and now +that the tense moment was over she felt drained of all vitality. Her +head drooped listlessly against the cushions of the car and dark shadows +stained her cheeks beneath the wide-opened eyes--eyes that held the +startled, frightened expression of one who has heard for the first time +the beat of Passion's wings. + +Gradually, as Errington watched her, the strained look left his face and +was replaced by one of infinite solicitude. She looked so young as she +lay there, huddled against the cushions--hardly more than a child--and he +knew what that mad moment had done for her. It had wakened the woman +within her. He cursed himself softly. + +"Diana," he said, leaning forward. "For God's sake, say you forgive me, +child." + +The deep pain in his voice pierced through her dulled, senses. + +"Why--why did you do it?" she asked tremulously. + +"I did it--oh, because for the moment I forgot that I'm a man barred out +from all that makes life worth living! . . . I forgot about the shadow, +Diana. . . . You--made me forget." + +He spoke with concentrated bitterness, adding mockingly:-- + +"After all, there's a great deal to be said in favour of the Turkish +yashmak. It at least removes temptation." + +Diana's hand flew to her lips--they burned still at the memory of those +kisses--and he smiled ironically at the instinctive gesture. + +"I hate you!" she said suddenly. + +"Quite the most suitable thing you could do," he answered composedly. +All the softened feeling of a few moments ago had vanished: he seemed to +have relapsed into his usual sardonic humour, putting a barrier between +himself and her that set them miles apart. + +Diana was conscious of a fury of resentment against his calm readjustment +of the situation. He was the offender; it was for her to dictate the +terms of peace, and he had suddenly cut the ground from under her feet. +Her pride rose in arms. If he could so contemptuously sweep aside the +memory of the last ten minutes, careless whether his plea for forgiveness +were granted or no, she would show him that for her, too, the incident +was closed. But she would not forgive him--ever. + +She opened her campaign at once. + +"Surely we must be almost at the Rectory by now?" she began in politely +conventional tones. + +A sudden gleam of wicked mirth flashed across his face. + +"Has the time, then, seemed so long?" he demanded coolly. + +Diana's lips trembled in the vain effort to repress a smile. The man was +impossible! It was also very difficult, she found, to remain righteously +angry with such an impossible person. + +If he saw the smile, he gave no indication of it. Rubbing the window +with his hand he peered out. + +"I think we are just turning in at the Rectory gates," he remarked +carelessly. + +In another minute the motor had throbbed to a standstill and the +chauffeur was standing at the open door. + +"I'm sorry we've been so long coming, sir," he said, touching his hat. +"I took a wrong turning--lost me way a bit." + +Then as Errington and Diana passed into the house, he added thoughtfully, +addressing his engine:-- + +"She's a pretty little bit of skirt and no mistake. I wonder, now, if we +was lost long enough, eh, Billy?" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +DIANA SINGS + +"I feel that we are very much indebted to you, Mr. Errington," said +Stair, when he and Joan had listened to an account of the afternoon's +proceedings--the major portion of them, that is. Certain details were +not included in the veracious history. "You seem to have a happy knack +of turning up just at the moment you are most needed," he added +pleasantly. + +"I think I must plead indebtedness to Miss Quentin for allowing me such +unique opportunities of playing knight errant," replied Max, smiling. +"Such chances are rare in this twentieth century of ours, and Miss +Quentin always kindly arranges so that I run no serious risks--to life +and limb, at least," he added, his mocking eyes challenging Diana's. + +She flushed indignantly. Evidently he wished her to understand that that +breathless moment in the car counted for nothing--must not be taken +seriously. He had only been amusing himself with her--just as he had +amused himself by chatting in the train--and again a wave of resentment +against him, against the cool, dominating insolence of the man, surged +through her. + +"I hope you'll stay and join us at dinner," the Rector was +saying--"unless it's hopelessly spoilt by waiting so long. Is it, Joan?" + +"Oh, no. I think there'll be some surviving remnants," she assured him. + +"Then if you'll overlook any discrepancies," pursued Stair, smiling at +Errington, "do stay." + +"Say, rather, if you'll overlook discrepancies," answered Errington, +smiling back--there was something infectious about Stair's geniality. +"I'm afraid a boiled shirt is out of the question--unless I go home to +fetch it!" + +Diana stared at him. Was he really going to stay--to accept the +invitation--after all that had occurred? If he did, she thought +scornfully, it was only in keeping with that calm arrogance of his by +which he allocated to himself the right to do precisely as he chose, +irrespective of convention--or of other people's feelings. + +Meanwhile Stair was twinkling humorously across at his visitor. + +"If you can bear to eat your dinner without being encased in the +regulation starch," he said, "I don't think I should advise risking what +remains of it by any further delay." + +"Then I accept with pleasure," replied Errington. + +As he spoke, his eyes sought Diana's once again. It almost seemed as +though they pleaded with her for understanding. The half-sad, +half-bitter mouth smiled faintly, the smile accentuating that upward +curve at the corners of the lips which lent such an unexpected sweetness +to its stern lines. + +Diana looked away quickly, refusing to endorse the Rector's invitation, +and, escaping to her own room, she made a hasty toilet, slipping into a +simple little black gown open at the throat. Meanwhile, she tortured +herself with questioning as to why--if all that had passed meant nothing +to him--he had chosen to stay. Once she hid her burning face in her +hands as the memory of those kisses rushed over her afresh, sending +little, new, delicious thrills coursing through her veins. Then once +more the maddening doubt assailed her--were they but a bitter humiliation +which she would remember for the rest of her life? + +When she came downstairs again, Max Errington and Stair were conversing +happily together, evidently on the best of terms with themselves and each +other. Errington was speaking as she entered the room, but he stopped +abruptly, biting his words off short, while his keen eyes swept over the +slim, black-gowned figure hesitating in the doorway. + +"Mr. Stair has been pledging your word during your absence," he said. +"He has promised that you'll sing to us after dinner." + +"I? Oh"--nervously--"I don't think I want to sing this evening." + +"Why not? Have the"--he made an infinitesimal pause, regarding her the +while with quizzical eyes--"events of the afternoon robbed you of your +voice?" + +Diana gave him back his look defiantly. How dared he--oh, how dared +he?--she thought indignantly. + +"My adventures weren't serious enough for that," she replied composedly. + +The ghost of a smile flickered across his face. + +"Then you will sing?" he persisted. + +"Yes, if you like." + +He nodded contentedly, and as they went in to dinner he whispered:-- + +"I found the adventure--rather serious." + +Dinner passed pleasantly enough. Errington and Stair contributed most of +the conversation, the former proving himself a charming guest, and it was +evident that the two men had taken a great liking to each other. It +would have been a difficult subject indeed who did not feel attracted by +Alan Stair; he was so unconventionally frank and sincere, brimming over +with humour, and he regarded every man as his friend until he had proved +him otherwise--and even then he was disposed to think that the fault must +lie somewhere in himself. + +"I'm not surprised that your church was so full on Sunday," Errington +told him, "now that I've met you. If the Church of England clergy, as a +whole, were as human as you are, you would have fewer offshoots from your +Established Church. I always think"--reminiscently--"that that is where +the strength of the Roman Catholic _padre_ lies--in his intense +_humanness_." + +The Sector looked up in surprise. + +"Then you're not a member of our Church?" he asked. + +For a moment Errington looked embarrassed, as though he had said more +than he wished to. + +"Oh, I was merely comparing the two," he replied evasively. "I have +lived abroad a good bit, you know." + +"Ah! That explains it, then," said Stair. "You've caught some little +foreign turns of speech. Several times I've wondered if you were +entirely English." + +Errington's face, as he turned to reply, wore that politely blank +expression which Diana had encountered more than once when conversing +with him--always should she chance to touch on any subject the natural +answer to which might have revealed something of the man's private life. + +"Oh," he answered the Rector lightly, "I believe there's a dash of +foreign blood in my veins, but I've a right to call myself an Englishman." + +After dinner, while the two men had their smoke, Diana, heedless of +Joan's common-sense remonstrance on the score of dew-drenched grass, +flung on a cloak and wandered restlessly out into the moonlit garden. +She felt that it would be an utter impossibility to sit still, waiting +until the men came into the drawing-room, and she paced slowly backwards +and forwards across the lawn, a slight, shadowy figure in the patch of +silver light. + +Presently she saw the French window of the dining-room open, and Max +Errington step across the threshold and come swiftly over the lawn +towards her. + +"I see you are bent on courting rheumatic fever--to say nothing of a sore +throat," he said quietly, "and I've come to take you indoors." + +Diana was instantly filled with a perverse desire to remain where she was. + +"I'm not in the least cold, thank you," she replied stiffly, "And--I like +it out here." + +"You may not be cold," he returned composedly. "But I'm quite sure your +feet are damp. Come along." + +He put his arm under hers, impelling her gently in the direction of the +house, and, rather to her own surprise, she found herself accompanying +him without further opposition. + +Arrived at the house, he knelt down and, taking up her foot in his hand, +deliberately removed the little pointed slipper. + +"There," he said conclusively, exhibiting its sole, dank with dew. "Go +up and put on a pair of dry shoes and then come down and sing to me." + +And once again she found herself meekly obeying him. + +By the time she had returned to the drawing-room, Pobs and Errington were +choosing the songs they wanted her to sing, while Joan was laughingly +protesting that they had selected all those with the most difficult +accompaniments. + +"However, I'll do my best, Di," she added, as she seated herself at the +piano. + +Joan's "best" as a pianist did not amount to very much at any time, and +she altogether lacked that intuitive understanding and sympathy which is +the _sine qua non_ of a good accompanist. Diana, accustomed to the +trained perfection of Olga Lermontof, found herself considerably +handicapped, and her rendering of the song in question, Saint-Saens' +_Amour, viens aider_, left a good deal to be desired in consequence--a +fact of which no one was more conscious than she herself. + +But the voice! As the full rich notes hung on the air, vibrant with that +indescribably thrilling quality which seems the prerogative of the +contralto, Errington recognised at once that here was a singer destined +to make her mark. The slight surprise which he had evinced on first +learning that she was a pupil of the great Baroni vanished instantly. No +master could be better fitted to have the handling of such a voice--and +certainly, he added mentally, Joan Stair was a ludicrously inadequate +accompanist, only to be excused by her frank acknowledgment of the fact. + +"I'm dreadfully sorry, Di," she said at the conclusion of the song. "But +I really can't manage the accompaniment." + +Errington rose and crossed the room to the piano. + +"Will you allow me to take your place?" he said pleasantly. "That is, if +Miss Quentin permits? It is hard lines to be suddenly called upon to +read accompaniments if you are not accustomed to it." + +"Oh, do you play?" exclaimed Joan, vacating her seat gladly. "Then +please do. I feel as if I were committing murder when I stumble through +Diana's songs." + +She joined the Rector at the far end of the room, adding with a smile:-- + +"I make a much better audience than performer." + +"What shall it be?" said Errington, turning over the pile of songs. + +"What you like," returned Diana indifferently. She was rather pale, and +her hand shook a little as she fidgeted restlessly with a sheet of music. +It almost seemed as though the projected change of accompanist were +distasteful to her. + +Max laid his own hand over hers an instant. + +"Please let me play for you," he said simply. + +There was a note of appeal in his voice--rather as if he were seeking to +soften her resentment against him, and would regard the permission to +accompany her as a token of forgiveness. She met his glance, wavered a +moment, then bent her head in silence, and each of them was conscious +that in some mysterious way, without the interchange of further words, an +armistice had been declared between them. + +With Errington at the piano the music took on a different aspect. He was +an incomparable accompanist, and Diana, feeling herself supported, and +upborne, sang with a beauty of interpretation, an intensity of feeling, +that had been impossible before. And through it all she was acutely +conscious of Max Errington's proximity--knew instinctively that the +passion of the song was shaking him equally with herself. It was as +though some intangible live wire were stretched between them so that each +could sense the emotion of the other--as though the garment with which we +so persistently conceal our souls from one another's eyes were suddenly +stripped away. + +There was a tense look in Max's face as the last note trembled into +silence, and Diana, meeting his glance, flushed rosily. + +"I can't sing any more," she said, her voice uneven. + +"No." + +He added nothing to the laconic negative, but his eyes held hers +remorselessly. + +Then Pobs' cheerful tones fell on their ears and the taut moment passed. + +"Di, you amazing child!" he exclaimed delightfully. "Where did you find +a voice like that? I realise now that we've been entertaining genius +unawares all this time. Joan, my dear, henceforth two commonplace bodies +like you and me must resign ourselves to taking a back seat." + +"I don't mind," returned Joan philosophically. "I think I was born with +a humdrum nature; a quiet life was always my idea of bliss." + +"Sing something else, Di," begged Stair. But Diana shook her head. + +"I'm too tired, Pobs," she said quietly. Turning abruptly to Errington +she continued: "Will you play instead?" + +Max hesitated a moment, then resumed his place at the piano, and, after a +pause, the three grave notes with which Rachmaninoff's wonderful +"Prelude" opens, broke the silence. + +It was speedily evident that Errington was a musician of no mean order; +indeed, many a professional reputation has been based on a less solid +foundation. The Rachmaninoff was followed by Chopin, Tchaikowsky, +Debussy, and others of the modern school, and when finally he dropped his +hands from the piano, laughingly declaring that he must be thinking of +taking his departure before he played them all to sleep, Joan burst out +bluntly:-- + +"We understood you were a dramatist, Mr. Errington. It seems to me you +have missed your vocation." + +Every one laughed. + +"Rather a two-edged compliment, I'm afraid, Joan," chuckled Stair +delightfully. + +Joan blushed, overcome with confusion, and remained depressed until +Errington, on the point of leaving, reassured her good-humouredly. + +"Don't brood over your father's unkind references to two-edged +compliments, Miss Stair. I entirely decline to see any but one meaning +to your speech--and that a very pleasant one." + +He shook hands with the Rector and Diana, holding the latter's hand an +instant longer than was absolutely necessary, to ask, rather low:-- + +"Is it peace, then?" + +But the softening spell of the music was broken, and Diana felt her +resentment against him rise up anew. + +Silently she withdrew her hand, refusing him an answer, defying him with +a courage born of the near neighbourhood of the Rector and Joan, and a +few minutes later the hum of his motor could be heard as it sped away +down the drive. + +Diana lay long awake that night, her thoughts centred round the man who +had come so strangely into her life. It was as though he had been forced +thither by a resistless fate which there was no eluding--for, on his own +confession, he had deliberately sought to avoid meeting her again. + +His whole attitude was utterly incomprehensible--a study of violently +opposing contrasts. Diana felt bruised and shaken by the fierce +contradictions of his moods, the temperamental heat and ice which he had +meted out to her. It seemed as if he were fighting against the +attraction she had for him, prepared to contest every inch of +ground--discounting each look and word wrung from him in some moment of +emotion by the mocking raillery with which he followed it up. + +More than once he had hinted at some barrier, spoken of a shadow that +dogged his steps, as if complete freedom of action were denied him. +Could it be--was it conceivable, that he was already married? And at the +thought Diana hid hot cheeks against her pillow, living over again that +moment in the car--that moment which had suddenly called into being +emotions before whose overmastering possibilities she trembled. + +At length, mentally and physically weary, she dropped into an uneasy +slumber, vaguely wondering what the morrow would bring forth. + +It brought the unexpected news that the occupants of Red Gables had +suddenly left for London by the morning train. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +MRS. LAWRENCE'S HOSPITALITY + +"_An Officer's Widow offers hospitality to students and professional +women. Excellent cuisine; man-servant; moderate terms. Apply: Mrs. L., +24 Brutton Square, N.W._" + +So ran the advertisement which Mrs. Lawrence periodically inserted in one +of the leading London dailies. She was well-pleased with the wording of +it, considering that it combined both veracity and attractiveness--two +things which do not invariably run smoothly in conjunction with each +other. + +The opening phrase had reference to the fact that her husband, the +defunct major, had been an army doctor, and the word hospitality +pleasantly suggested the idea of a home from home, whilst the +afterthought conveyed by the moderate terms delicately indicated that the +hospitality was not entirely of a gratuitous nature. The man-servant, on +closer inspection, resolved himself into a French-Swiss waiter, whose +agility and condition were such that he could negotiate the whole ninety +stairs of the house, three at a time, without once pausing for breath +till he reached the top. + +Little Miss Bunting, the lady-help, who lived with Mrs. Lawrence on the +understanding that she gave "assistance in light household duties in +return for hospitality," was not quite so nimble as Henri, the waiter, +and often found her heart beating quite uncomfortably fast by the time +she had climbed the ninety stairs to the little cupboard of a room which +Mrs. Lawrence's conception of hospitality allotted for her use. She did +the work of two servants and ate rather less than one, and, seeing that +she received no wages and was incurably conscientious, Mrs. Lawrence +found the arrangement eminently satisfactory. Possibly Miss Bunting +herself regarded the matter with somewhat less enthusiasm, but she was a +plucky little person and made no complaint. As she wrote to her invalid +mother, shortly after taking up her duties at Brutton Square: "After all, +dearest of little mothers, I have a roof over my head and food to eat, +and I'm not costing you anything except a few pounds for my clothes. And +perhaps when I leave here, if Mrs. Lawrence gives me a good reference, I +shall be able to get a situation with a salary attached to it." + +So Miss Bunting stuck to her guns and spent her days in supplementing the +deficiencies of careless servants, smoothing the path of the boarders, +and generally enabling Mrs. Lawrence to devote much more time to what she +termed her "social life" than would otherwise have been the case. + +The boarders usually numbered anything from twelve to fifteen--all of the +gentler sex--and were composed chiefly of students at one or other of the +London schools of art or music, together with a sprinkling of visiting +teachers of various kinds, and one or two young professional musicians +whose earnings did not yet warrant their launching out into the +independence of flat life. This meant that three times a year, when the +schools closed for their regular vacations, a general exodus took place +from 24 Brutton Square, and Mrs. Lawrence was happily enabled to go away +and visit her friends, leaving the conscientious Miss Bunting to look +after the reduced establishment and cater for the one or two remaining +boarders who were not released by regular holidays. It was an admirable +arrangement, profitable without being too exigeant. + +At the end of each vacation Mrs. Lawrence always summoned Miss Bunting to +her presence and ran through the list of boarders for the coming term, +noting their various requirements. She was thus occupied one afternoon +towards the end of April. The spring sunshine poured in through the +windows, lending an added cheerfulness of aspect to the rooms of the tall +London house that made them appear worth quite five shillings a week more +than was actually charged for them, and Mrs. Lawrence smiled, well +satisfied. + +She was a handsome woman, still in the early forties, and the word +"stylish" inevitably leaped to one's mind at the sight of her full, +well-corseted figure, fashionable raiment, and carefully coiffured hair. +There was nothing whatever of the boarding-house keeper about her; in +fact, at first sight, she rather gave the impression of a pleasant, +sociable woman who, having a house somewhat larger than she needed for +her own requirements, accepted a few paying guests to keep the rooms +aired. + +This was just the impression she wished to convey, and it was usually +some considerable time before her boarders grasped the fact that they +were dealing with, a thoroughly shrewd, calculating business woman, who +was bent on making every penny out of them that she could, compatibly +with running the house on such lines as would ensure its answering to the +advertised description. + +"I'm glad it's a sunny day," she remarked to Miss Bunting. "First +impressions are everything, and that pupil of Signor Baroni's, Miss +Quentin, arrives to-day. I hope her rooms are quite ready?" + +"Quite, Mrs. Lawrence," replied the lady-help. "I put a few flowers in +the vases just to make it look a little home-like." + +"Very thoughtful of you, Miss Bunting," Mrs. Lawrence returned +graciously. "Miss Quentin's is rather a special case. To begin with, +she has engaged a private sitting-room, and in addition to that she was +recommended to come here by Signor Baroni himself." + +The good word of a teacher of such standing as Baroni was a matter of the +first importance to a lady offering a home from home to musical students, +though possibly had Mrs. Lawrence heard the exact form taken by Baroni's +recommendation she might have felt less elated. + +"The Lawrence woman is a bit of a shark, my dear," he had told Diana, +when she had explained that, owing to the retirement from business of her +former landlady, she would be compelled after Easter to seek fresh rooms. +"But she caters specially for musical students, and as she is therefore +obliged to keep the schools pleased, she feeds her boarders, on the +whole, better than do most of her species. And remember, my dear Mees +Quentin, that good food, and plenty of good food, means--voice." + +So Diana had nodded and written to Mrs. Lawrence to ask if a bed-room and +sitting-room opening one into the other could be at her disposal, +receiving an affirmative reply. + +"Regarding coals, Miss Bunting," proceeded Mrs. Lawrence thoughtfully, "I +told Miss Quentin that the charge would be sixpence per scuttle." (This +was in pre-war times, it must be remembered, and the scuttles were of +painfully meagre proportions.) "It might be as well to put that large +coal-box in her room--you know the one I mean--and make the charge +eightpence." + +The box in question was certainly of imposing exterior proportions, but +its tin lining was of a quite different domestic period and made no +pretensions as to fitting. It lay loosely inside its sham mahogany +casing like the shrivelled kernel of a nut in its shell. + +"The big coal-scuttle really doesn't hold twopenny-worth more coal than +the others," observed Miss Bunting tentatively. + +A dull flush mounted to Mrs. Lawrence's cheek. She liked the prospect of +screwing an extra twopence out of one of her boarders, but she hated +having the fact so clearly pointed out to her. There were times when she +found Miss Bunting's conscientiousness something of a trial. + +"It's a much larger box," she protested sharply. + +"Yes. I know it is--outside. But the lining only holds two more knobs +than the sixpenny ones." + +Mrs. Lawrence frowned. + +"Do I understand that you--you actually measured the amount it contains?" +she asked, with bitterness. + +"Yes," retorted Miss Bunting valiantly. "And compared it with the +others. It was when you told me to put the eightpenny scuttle in Miss +Jenkins' room. She complained at once." + +"Then you exceeded your duties, Miss Bunting. You should have referred +Miss Jenkins to me." + +Miss Bunting made no reply. She had acted precisely in the way +suggested, but Miss Jenkins, a young art-student of independent opinions, +had flatly declined to be "referred" to Mrs. Lawrence. + +"It's not the least use, Bunty dear," she had said. "I'm not going to +have half an hour's acrimonious conversation with Mrs. Lawrence on the +subject of twopennyworth of coal. At the same time I haven't the +remotest intention of paying twopence extra for those two lumps of excess +luggage, so to speak. So you can just trot that sarcophagus away, like +the darling you are, and bring me back my sixpenny scuttle again." + +And little Miss Bunting, in her capacity of buffer state between Mrs. +Lawrence and her boarders, had obeyed and said nothing more about the +matter. + +"I have to go out now," continued Mrs. Lawrence, after a pause pregnant +with rebuke. "You will receive Miss Quentin on her arrival and attend to +her comfort. And put the large coal-box in her sitting-room as I +directed," she added firmly. + +So it came about that when, half an hour later, a taxi-cab buzzed up to +the door of No. 24, with Diana and a large quantity of luggage on board, +the former found herself met in the hall by a cheerful little person with +pretty brown eyes and a friendly smile to whom she took an instant liking. + +Miss Bunting escorted Diana up to her rooms on the second floor, while +Henri brought up the rear, staggering manfully beneath the weight of Miss +Quentin's trunk. + +A cheerful fire was blazing in the grate, and that, together with the +daffodils that gleamed from a bowl on the table like a splash of gold, +gave the room a pleasant and welcoming appearance. + +"But, surely," said Diana hesitatingly, "you are not Mrs. Lawrence?" + +Miss Bunting laughed, outright. + +"Oh, dear no," she answered. "Mrs. Lawrence is out, and she asked me to +see that you had everything you wanted. I'm the lady-help, you know." + +Diana regarded her commiseratingly. She seemed such a jolly, bright +little thing to be occupying that anomalous position. + +"Oh, are you? Then it was you"--with a sudden, inspiration--"who put +these lovely daffodils here, wasn't it? . . . Thank you so much for +thinking of it--it was kind of you." And she held out her hand with the +frank charm of manner which invariably turned Diana's acquaintances into +friends inside ten minutes. + +Little Miss Bunting flushed delightedly, and from that moment onward +became one of the new boarder's most devoted adherents. + +"You'd like some tea, I expect," she said presently. "Will you have it +up here--or in the dining-room with the other boarders in half an hour's +time?" + +"Oh, up here, please. I can't possibly wait half an hour." + +"I ought to tell you," Miss Bunting continued, dimpling a little, "that +it will be sixpence extra if you have it up here. '_All meals served in +rooms, sixpence extra_,'" she read out, pointing to the printed list of +rules and regulations hanging prominently above the chimney-piece. + +Diana regarded it with amusement. + +"They ought to be written on tablets of stone like the Ten Commandments," +she commented frivolously. "It rather reminds me of being at school +again. I've never lived in a boarding-house before, you know; I had +rooms in the house of an old servant of ours. Well, here +goes!"--twisting the framed set of rules round with its face to the wall. +"Now, if I break the laws of the Medes and Persians I can't be blamed, +because I haven't read them." + +Miss Bunting privately thought that the new boarder, recommended by so +great a personage as Signor Baroni, stood an excellent chance of being +allowed a generous latitude as regards conforming to the rules at No. +24--provided she paid her bills promptly and without too careful a +scrutiny of the "extras." Bunty, indeed, retained few illusions +concerning her employer, and perhaps this was just as well--for the fewer +the illusions by which you're handicapped, the fewer your disappointments +before the journey's end. + +"You haven't told me your name," said Diana, when the lady-help +reappeared with a small tea-tray in her hand. + +"Bunting," came the smiling reply. "But most of the boarders call me +Bunty." + +"I shall, too, may I?--And oh, why haven't you brought two cups? I +wanted you to have tea with me--if you've time, that is?" + +"If I had brought a second cup, '_Tea, for two_' would have been charged +to your account," observed Miss Bunting. + +"What?" Diana's eyes grew round with astonishment. "With the same sized +teapot?" + +The other nodded humorously. + +"Well, Mrs. Lawrence's logic is beyond me," pursued Diana. +"However, we'll obviate the difficulty. I'll have tea out of my +tooth-glass"--glancing towards the washstand in the adjoining room where +that article, inverted, capped the water-bottle--"and you, being the +honoured guest, shall luxuriate in the cup." + +Bunty modestly protested, but Diana had her own way in the matter, and +when finally the little lady-help went downstairs to pour out tea in the +dining-room for the rest of the boarders, it was with that pleasantly +warm glow about the region of the heart which the experience of an +unexpected kindness is prone to produce. + +Meanwhile Diana busied herself unpacking her clothes and putting them +away in the rather limited cupboard accommodation provided, and in fixing +up a few pictures, recklessly hammering the requisite nails into the +walls in happy disregard of Rule III of the printed list, which +emphatically stated that: "_No nails must be driven into the walls +without permission_." + +By the time she had completed these operations a dressing-bell sounded, +and quickly exchanging her travelling costume for a filmy little dinner +dress of some soft, shimmering material, she sallied downstairs in search +of the dining-room. + +Mrs. Lawrence met her on the threshold, warmly welcoming, and conducting +her to her allotted place at the lower end of a long table, around which +were seated--as it appeared to Diana in that first dizzy moment of +arrival--dozens of young women varying from twenty to thirty years of +age. In reality there were but a baker's dozen of them, and they all +painstakingly abstained from glancing in her direction lest they might be +thought guilty of rudely staring at a newcomer. + +Diana's _vis-à-vis_ at table was the redoubtable Miss Jenkins of coal-box +fame, and her neighbours on either hand two students of one of the +musical colleges. Next to Miss Jenkins, Diana observed a vacant place; +presumably its owner was dining out. She also noticed that she alone +among the boarders had attempted to make any kind of evening toilet. The +others had "changed" from their workaday clothes, it is true, but a light +silk blouse, worn with a darker skirt, appeared to be generally regarded +as a sufficient recognition of the occasion. + +Diana's near neighbours were at first somewhat tongue-tied with a nervous +stiffness common to the Britisher, but they thawed a little as the meal +progressed, and when the musical students, Miss Jones and Miss Allen, had +elicited that she was actually a pupil of the great Baroni, envy and a +certain awed admiration combined to unseal the fountains of their speech. + +Just as the fish was being removed, the door opened to admit a tall, thin +woman, wearing outdoor costume, who passed quickly down the room and took +the vacant place at the table, murmuring a curt apology to Mrs. Lawrence +on her way. To Diana's astonishment she recognised in the newcomer Olga +Lermontof, Baroni's accompanist. + +"Miss Lermontof!" she exclaimed. "I had no idea that you lived here." + +Miss Lermontof nodded a brief greeting. + +"How d'you do? Yes, I've lived here for some time. But I didn't know +that you were coming. I thought you had rooms somewhere?" + +"So I had. But I was obliged to give them up, and Signor Baroni +suggested this instead." + +"Hope you'll like it," returned Miss Lermontof shortly. "At any rate, it +has the advantage of being only quarter of an hour's walk from +Grellingham Place. I've just come from there." And with that she +relapsed into silence. + +Although Olga Lermontof had frequently accompanied Diana during her +lessons with Baroni, the acquaintance between the two had made but small +progress. There had been but little opportunity for conversation on +those occasions, and Diana, instinctively resenting the accompanist's +cool and rather off-hand manner, had never sought to become better +acquainted with her. It was generally supposed that she was a Russian, +and she was undoubtedly a highly gifted musician, but there was something +oddly disagreeable and repellent about her personality. Whenever Diana +had thought about her at all, she had mentally likened her to Ishmael, +whose hand was against every man and every man's hand against his. And +now she found herself involved with this strange woman in the rather +close intimacy of daily life consequent upon becoming fellow-boarders in +the same house. + +Seen amidst so many strange faces, the familiarity of Olga Lermontof's +clever but rather forbidding visage bred a certain new sense of +comradeship, and Diana made several tentative efforts to draw her into +conversation. The results were meagre, however, the Russian confining +herself to monosyllabic answers until some one--one of the musical +students--chanced to mention that she had recently been to the Premier +Theatre to see Adrienne de Gervais in a new play, "The Grey Gown," which +had just been produced there. + +It was then that Miss Lermontof apparently awoke to the fact that the +English language contains further possibilities than a bare "yes" or "no." + +"I consider Adrienne de Gervais a most overrated actress," she remarked +succinctly. + +A chorus of disagreement greeted this announcement. + +"Why, only think how quickly she's got on," argued Miss Jones. "No one +three years ago--and to-day Max Errington writes all his plays round her." + +"Precisely. And it's easy enough to 'create a part' successfully if that +part has been previously written specially to suit you," retorted Miss +Lermontof unmoved. + +The discussion of Adrienne de Gervais' merits, or demerits, threatened to +develop into a violent disagreement, and Diana was struck by a certain +personal acrimony that seemed to flavour Miss Lermontof's criticism of +the popular actress. Finally, with the idea of averting a quarrel +between the disputants, she mentioned that the actress, accompanied by +her chaperon, had been staying in the neighbourhood of her own home. + +"Mr. Errington was with them also," she added. + +"He usually is," commented Miss Lermontof disagreeably. + +"He's a remarkably fine pianist," said Diana. "Do you know him +personally at all?" + +"I've met him," replied Olga. Her green eyes narrowed suddenly, and she +regarded Diana with a rather curious expression on her face. + +"Is he a professional pianist?" pursued Diana. She was conscious of an +intense curiosity concerning Errington, quite apart from the personal +episodes which had linked them together. The man of mystery invariably +exerts a peculiar fascination over the feminine mind. Hence the +unmerited popularity not infrequently enjoyed by the dark, saturnine, +brooding individual whose conversation savours of the tensely +monosyllabic. + +Olga Lermontof paused a moment before replying to Diana's query. The she +said briefly:-- + +"No. He's a dramatist. I shouldn't allow myself to become too +interested in him if I were you." + +She smiled a trifle grimly at Diana's sudden flush, and her manner +indicated that, as far as she was concerned, the subject was closed. + +Diana felt an inward conviction that Miss Lermontof knew much more +concerning Max Errington than she chose to admit, and when she fell +asleep that night it was to dream that she and Errington were trying to +find each other through the gloom of a thick fog, whilst all the time the +dark-browed, sinister face of Olga Lermontof kept appearing and +disappearing between them, smiling tauntingly at their efforts. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A CONTEST OF WILLS + +Diana was sitting in Baroni's music-room, waiting, with more or less +patience, for a singing lesson. The old _maestro_ was in an +unmistakable ill-humour this morning, and he had detained the pupil +whose lesson preceded her own far beyond the allotted time, storming at +the unfortunate young man until Diana marvelled that the latter had +sufficient nerve to continue singing at all. + +In a whirl of fury Baroni informed him that he was exactly suited to be +a third-rate music-hall artiste--the young man, be it said, was making +a special study of oratorio--and that it was profanation, for any one +with so incalculably little idea of the very first principles of art to +attempt to interpret the works of the great masters, together with much +more of a like explosive character. Finally, he dismissed him abruptly +and turned to Diana. + +"Ah--Mees Quentin." He softened a little. He had a great affection +for this promising pupil of his, and welcomed her with a smile. "I am +seek of that young man with his voice of an archangel and his brains of +a feesh! . . . So! You haf come back from your visit to the country? +And how goes it with the voice?" + +"I expect I'm a bit rusty after my holiday," she replied +diplomatically, fondly hoping to pave the way for more lenient +treatment than had been accorded to the luckless student of oratorio. + +Unfortunately, however, it chanced to be one of those sharply chilly +days to which May occasionally treats us. Baroni frankly detested cold +weather--it upset both his nerves and his temper--and Diana speedily +realised that no excuses would avail to smooth her path on this +occasion. + +"Scales," commanded Baroni, and struck a chord. + +She began to sing obediently, but at the end of the third scale he +stopped her. + +"Bah! It sounds like an elephant coming downstairs! Be-r-r-rump . . . +be-r-r-rump . . . be-r-r-rump . . . br-r-rum! Do not, please, sing as +an elephant walks." + +Diana coloured and tried again, but without marked success. She was +genuinely out of practice, and the nervousness with which Baroni's +obvious ill-humour inspired her did not mend matters. + +"But what haf you been doing during the holidays?" exclaimed the +_maestro_ at last, his odd, husky voice fierce with annoyance. "There +is no ease---no flexibility. You are as stiff as a rusty hinge. Ach! +But you will haf to work--not play any more." + +He frowned portentously, then with a swift change to a more reasonable +mood, he continued:-- + +"Let us haf some songs--Saint-Saens' _Amour, viens aider_. Perhaps +that will wake you up, _hein_?" + +Instead, it carried Diana swiftly back to the Rectory at Crailing, to +the evening when she had sung this very song to Max Errington, with the +unhappy Joan stumbling through the accompaniment. She began to sing, +her mind occupied with quite other matters than Delilah's passion of +vengeance, and her face expressive of nothing more stirring than a +gentle reminiscence. Baroni stopped abruptly and placed a big mirror +in front of her. + +"Please to look at your face, Mees Quentin," he said scathingly. "It +is as wooden as your singing." + +He was a confirmed advocate of the importance of facial expression in a +singer, and Diana's vague, abstracted look was rapidly raising his ire. +Recalled by the biting scorn in his tones, she made a gallant effort to +throw herself more effectually into the song, but the memory of +Errington's grave, intent face, as he had sat listening to her that +night, kept coming betwixt her and the meaning of the music--and the +result was even more unpromising than before. + +In another moment Baroni was on his feet, literally dancing with rage. + +"But do you then call yourself an _artiste_?" he broke out furiously. +"Why has the good God given you eyes and a mouth? That they may +express nothing--nothing at all? Bah! You haf the face of a +gootta-per-r-rcha doll!" + +And snatching up the music from the piano in an uncontrollable burst of +fury, he flung it straight at her, and the two of them stood glaring at +each other for a few moments in silence. Then Baroni pointed to the +song, lying open on the floor between them, and said explosively:-- + +"Pick that up." + +Diana regarded him coolly, her small face set like a flint. + +"No." She fairly threw the negative at him, + +He stared at her--he was accustomed to more docile pupils--and the two +girls who had remained in the room to listen to the lessons following +their own huddled together with scared faces. The _maestro_ in a royal +rage was ever, in their opinion, to be regarded from much the same +viewpoint as a thunderbolt, and that any one of his pupils should dare +to defy him was unheard-of. In the same situation as that in which +Diana found herself, either of the two girls in question would have +meekly picked up the music and, dissolving into tears, made the +continuance of the lesson an impossibility, only to be bullied by the +_maestro_ even more execrably next time. + +"Pick that up," repeated Baroni stormily. + +"I shall do nothing of the kind," retorted Diana promptly. "You threw +it there, and you can pick it up. I'm going home." And, turning her +back upon him, she marched towards the door. + +A sudden twinkle showed itself in Baroni's eyes. With unaccustomed +celerity he pranced after her. + +"Come back, little Pepper-pot, come back, then, and we will continue +the lesson." + +Diana turned and stood hesitating. + +"Who's going to pick up that music?" she demanded unflinchingly. + +"Why, I will, thou most obstinate child"--suiting the action to the +word. "Because it is true that professors should not throw music at +their pupils, no matter"--maliciously--"how stupid nor how dull they +may be at their lesson." + +Diana flushed, immediately repentant. + +"I'm sorry," she acknowledged frankly. "I was being abominably +inattentive; I was thinking of something else." + +The little scene was characteristic of her--unbendingly determined and +obstinate when she thought she was wronged and unjustly treated, +impulsively ready to ask pardon when she saw herself at fault. + +Baroni patted her hand affectionately. + +"See, my dear, I am a cross-grained, ugly old man, am I not?" he said +placidly. + +"Yes, you are," agreed Diana, to the awed amazement of the other two +pupils, at the same time bestowing a radiant smile upon him. + +Baroni beamed back at her benevolently. + +"So! Thus we agree--we are at one, as master and pupil should be. Is +it not so?" + +Diana nodded, amusement in her eyes. + +"Then, being agreed, we can continue our lesson. Imagine yourself, +please, to be Delilah, brooding on your vengeance, gloating over what +you are about to accomplish. Can you not picture her to +yourself--beautiful, sinister, like a snake that winds itself about the +body"--his voice fell to a penetrating whisper--"and, in her heart, +dreaming of the triumph that shall bring Samson at last a captive to +destruction?" + +Something in the tense excitement of his whispering tones struck an +answering chord within Diana, and oblivious for the moment of all else +except Delilah's passionate thirst for vengeance, she sang with her +whole soul, so that when she ceased, Baroni, in a sudden access of +artistic fervour, leapt from his seat and embraced her rapturously. + +"Well done! That is, true art--art and intelligence allied to the +voice of gold which the good God has given you." + +Absorbed in the music, neither master nor pupil had observed that +during the course of the song the door had been softly unlatched from +outside and held ajar, and now, just as Diana was somewhat blushingly +extricating herself from Baroni's fervent clasp, it was thrown open and +the unseen listener came into the room. + +Baroni whirled round and advanced with outstretched hands, his face +wreathed in smiles. + +"_A la bonne heure_! You haf come just at a good moment, Mees de +Gervais, to hear this pupil of mine who will some day be one of the +world's great singers." + +Adrienne de Gervais shook hands. + +"I've been listening, Baroni. She has a marvellous voice. +But"--looking at Diana pleasantly--"we are neighbours, surely? I have +seen you in Crailing--where we have just taken a house called Red +Gables." + +"Yes, I live at Crailing," replied Diana, a little shyly. + +"And I saw you, there one day--you were sitting in a pony-trap, waiting +outside a cottage, and singing to yourself. I noticed the quality of +her voice then," added Miss de Gervais, turning to the _maestro_. + +"Yes," said Baroni, with placid content. "It is superb." + +Adrienne turned back to Diana with a delightful smile. + +"Since we are neighbours in the country, Miss Quentin, we ought to be +friends in town. Won't you come and see me one day?" + +Diana flushed. She was undoubtedly attracted by the actress's charming +personality, but beyond this lay the knowledge that it was more than +likely that at her house she might again encounter Errington. And +though Diana told herself that he was nothing to her--in fact, that she +disliked him rather than otherwise--the chance of meeting him once more +was not to be foregone--if only for the opportunity it would give her +of showing him how much she disliked him! + +"I should like to come very much," she answered. + +"Then come and have tea with me to-morrow--no, to-morrow I'm engaged. +Shall we say Thursday?" + +Diana acquiesced, and Miss de Gervais turned to Baroni with a rather +mischievous smile, saying something in a foreign tongue which Diana +took to be Russian. Baroni replied in the same language, frowningly, +and although she could not understand the tenor of his answer, Diana +was positive that she caught her own name and that of Max Errington +uttered in conjunction with each other. + +It struck her as an odd coincidence that Baroni should be acquainted +both with Miss de Gervais and with Errington, and at her next lesson +she ventured to comment on the former's visit. Baroni's answer, +however, furnished a perfectly simple explanation of it. + +"Mees de Gervais? Oh, yes, she sings a song in her new play, 'The Grey +Gown,' and I haf always coached her in her songs. She has a pree-ty +voice--nothing beeg, but quite pree-ty." + +Diana set forth on her visit to Adrienne with a certain amount of +trepidation. Much as she longed to see Max Errington again, she felt +that the first meeting after that last episode of their acquaintance +might well partake of the somewhat doubtful pleasure of skating on thin +ice. + +It was therefore not without a feeling of relief that she found the +actress and her chaperon the only occupants of the former's pretty +drawing-room. They both welcomed her cordially. + +"I have heard so much about you," said Mrs. Adams, pleasantly, "that +I've been longing to meet you, Miss Quentin. Adrienne calls you the +'girl with the golden voice,' and I'm hoping to have the pleasure of +hearing you sing." + +Diana was getting used to having her voice referred to as something +rather wonderful; it no longer embarrassed her, so she murmured an +appropriate answer and the conversation then drifted naturally to +Crailing and to the lucky chance which had brought Errington past +Culver Point the day Diana was marooned there, and Diana explained that +the Rector and his daughter had intended calling upon the occupants of +Red Gables, but had been prevented by their sudden departure. + +Adrienne laughed. + +"Yes, I expect every one thought we were quite mad to run away like +that so soon after our arrival! It was a sudden idea of Mr. +Errington's. He declared he was not satisfied about something in the +staging of 'The Grey Gown,' and of course we must needs all rush up to +town to see about it. There wasn't the least necessity, as it turned +out, but when Max takes an idea into his head there's no stopping him." + +"No," added Mrs. Adams. "And the sheer cruelty of bustling an elderly +person like me from one end of England to the other just to suit his +whims doesn't seem to move him in the slightest." + +She was smiling broadly as she spoke, and, it was evident to Diana that +to both these women Max Errington's word was law--a law they obeyed, +however, with the utmost cheerfulness. + +"But, of course, we are coming back again," pursued Miss de Gervais. +"I think Crailing is a delightful little place, and I am going to +regard Red Gables as a haven of refuge from the storms of professional +life. So I hope"--smilingly--"that the Rectory will call on Red Gables +when next we are 'in residence.'" + +The time passed quickly, and when tea was disposed of Adrienne looked +out from amongst her songs one or two which were known to Diana, and +Mrs. Adams was given the opportunity of hearing the "golden voice." + +And then, just as Diana was preparing to leave, a maid threw open a +door and announced:-- + +"Mr. Errington." + +Diana felt her heart contract suddenly, and the sound of his voice, as +he greeted Adrienne and Mrs. Adams, sent a thrill through every nerve +in her body. + +"You mustn't go now." She was vaguely conscious that Adrienne was +speaking to her. "Max, here is Miss Quentin, whom you gallantly +rescued from Culver Point." + +The actress was dimpling and smiling, a spice of mischief in her soft +blue eyes. She and Mrs. Adams had not omitted to chaff Errington about +his involuntary knight-errantry, and the former had even laughingly +declared it her firm belief that his journey to town the next day +partook more of the nature of flight than anything else. To all of +which Errington had submitted composedly, declining to add anything +further to his bare statement of the incident of Culver Point--mention +of which had been entailed by his unexpected absence from Red Gables +that evening. + +He gave a scarcely perceptible start of surprise as his eyes fell upon +Diana, but he betrayed no pleasure at seeing her again. His face +showed nothing beyond the polite, impersonal interest which any +stranger might exhibit. + +"I have just missed the pleasure of hearing you sing, I'm afraid," he +said, shaking hands. "Have you been back in town long, Miss Quentin?" + +"No, only a few days," she answered. "I had my first lesson with +Signor Baroni the other day, and it was then that I met Miss de +Gervais." + +"At Baroni's?" Diana intercepted a swift glance pass between him and +Adrienne. + +"Yes," said the latter quickly. "I went to rehearse my song in 'The +Grey Gown' with him. He was rather crochety that day," she added, +smiling. + +Diana smiled in sympathy. + +"Well, if he was crochety with you, Miss de Gervais," she observed, +"you can perhaps imagine what he was like to me!" + +"Was he so very bad?" asked Adrienne, laughing. "Every one says his +temper is diabolical." + +"It is," replied Diana, with conviction. + +"Still," broke in Errington's quiet voice, "I should have thought he +would have found it somewhat difficult to be very angry with Miss +Quentin." + +Diana fancied she detected the familiar flavour of irony in the cool +tones. + +"On the contrary, he apparently found it perfectly simple," she +retorted sharply. + +"And yet," interposed Adrienne, "from the panegyrics he indulged in +upon the subject of your voice after you had gone, I'm sure he thinks +the world of you." + +"Oh, I'm just a voice to him--nothing more," said Diana. + +"To be 'just a voice' to Baroni means to be the most important thing on +earth," observed Errington. "I believe he would imperil his immortal +soul to give a supremely beautiful voice to the world." + +"Nonsense, Max," protested Adrienne. "You talk as if he were perfectly +conscienceless." + +"So he is, except in so far as art is concerned, and then his +conscience assumes the form of sheer idolatry. I believe he would +sacrifice anything and anybody for the sake of it." + +"Well, it's to be hoped you're wrong," said Adrienne, smiling, and +again Diana thought she detected a glance of mutual understanding pass +between the actress and Max Errington. + +A little uncomfortable sense as of being _de trop_ invaded her. She +felt that for some reason Errington would be glad when she had gone. +Possibly he had come to see Miss de Gervais about some business matter +in connection with the play he had written, and was only awaiting her +departure to discuss it. He had not appeared in the least pleased to +find her there on his arrival, and from that moment onward the +conversation had become distinctly laboured. + +She wished very much that Miss de Gervais had not pressed her to stay +when he came, and at the first opportunity she rose to go. This time, +Adrienne made no effort to detain her, although she asked her cordially +to come again another day. + +As Diana drove back in a taxi to Brutton Square she was conscious of a +queer sense of disappointment in the outcome of her meeting with Max +Errington. It had been so utterly different from anything she had +expected--quite commonplace and ordinary, exactly as though they had +been no more than the most casual acquaintances. + +She hardly knew what she had actually anticipated. Certainly, she told +herself irritably, she could not have expected him to have treated her +with marked warmth of manner in the presence of others, and therefore +his behaviour had been just what the circumstances demanded. But, +notwithstanding the assurance she gave herself that this was the +common-sense view to take of the matter, she had an instinctive feeling +that, even had there been no one else to consider, Errington's manner +would still have shown no greater cordiality. For some reason he had +decided to lock the door on the past, and the polite friendly +indifference with which he had treated her was intended to indicate +quite clearly the attitude he proposed to adopt. + +She supposed he repented that brief, vivid moment in the car, and +wished her to understand that it held no significance--that it was +merely a chance incident in this world where one amuses oneself as +occasion offers. Presumably he feared that, not being a woman of the +world, she might attach a deeper meaning to it than the circumstances +warranted, and was anxious to set her right on that point. + +Her pride rose in revolt. Olga Lermontof's words returned to her mind +with fresh enlightenment: "I shouldn't allow myself to become too +interested in him, if I were you." Surely she had intended this as a +friendly warning to Diana not to take anything Max Errington might do +or say very seriously! + +Well, there would be no danger of that in the future; she had learned +her lesson and would take care to profit by it. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +MISS LERMONTOF'S ADVICE + +As Diana entered the somewhat dingy hall at 34 Brutton Square on her +return from visiting Adrienne, the first person she encountered was +Olga Lermontof. She still retained her dislike of the accompanist and +was preparing to pass by with a casual remark upon the coldness of the +weather, when something in the Russian's pale, fatigued face arrested +her. + +"How frightfully tired you look!" she exclaimed, pausing on the +staircase as the two made their way up together. + +"I am, rather," returned Miss Lermontof indifferently. "I've been +playing accompaniments all afternoon, and I've had no tea." + +Diana hesitated an instant, then she said impulsively--"Oh, do come +into my room and let me make you a cup." + +Olga Lermontof regarded her with a faint surprise. + +"Thanks," she said in her abrupt way. "I will." + +A cheerful little fire was burning in the grate, and the room presented +a very comfortable and home-like appearance, for Diana had added a +couple of easy-chairs and several Liberty cushions to its somewhat +sparse furniture. A heavy curtain, hung in front of the door to +exclude draughts, gave an additional cosy touch, and fresh flowers +adorned both chimney-piece and table. + +Olga Lermontof let her long, lithe figure down into one of the +easy-chairs with a sigh of satisfaction, while Diana set the kettle on +the fire to boil, and produced from the depths of a cupboard a canister +of tea and a tin of attractive-looking biscuits. + +"I often make my own tea up here," she observed. "I detest having it +in that great barrack of a dining-room downstairs. The +bread-and-butter is always so thick--like doorsteps!--and the cake is +very emphatically of the 'plain, home-made' variety." + +Olga nodded. + +"You look very comfortable here," she replied. "If you saw my tiny +bandbox of a room on the fourth floor you'd realise what a sybarite you +are." + +Diana wondered a little why Olga Lermontof should need to economise by +having such a small room and one so high up. She was invariably +well-dressed--Diana had frequently caught glimpses of silken petticoats +and expensive shoes--and she had not in the least the air of a woman +who is accustomed to small means. + +Almost as though she had uttered her thought aloud, Miss Lermontof +replied to it, smiling rather satirically. + +"You're thinking I don't look the part? It's true I haven't always +been so poor as I am now. But a lot of my money is invested in +Ru--abroad, and owing to--to various things"--she stammered a +little--"I can't get hold of it just at present, so I'm dependent on +what I make. And an accompanist doesn't earn a fortune, you know. But +I can't quite forego pretty clothes--I wasn't brought up that way. So +I economise over my room." + +Diana was rather touched by the little confidence; somehow she didn't +fancy the other had found it very easy to make, and she liked her all +the better for it. + +"No," she agreed, as she poured out two steaming cups of tea. "I +suppose accompanying doesn't pay as well as some other things--the +stage, for example. I should think Adrienne de Gervais makes plenty of +money." + +"She has private means, I believe," returned Miss Lermontof. "But, of +course, she gets an enormous salary." + +She was drinking her tea appreciatively, and a little colour had crept +into her cheeks, although the shadows still lay heavily beneath her +light-green eyes. They were of a curious translucent green, the more +noticeable against the contrasting darkness of her hair and brows; they +reminded one of the colour of Chinese jade. + +"I've just been to tea with Miss de Gervais," volunteered Diana, after +a pause. + +A swift look of surprise crossed Olga Lermontof's face. + +"I didn't know you had met her," she said slowly. + +"Yes, we met at Signor Baroni's the other day. She came in during my +lesson. I believe I told you she had taken a house at Crailing, so +that at home we are neighbours, you see." + +"Miss Lermontof consumed a biscuit in silence. Then she said +abruptly:-- + +"Miss Quentin, I know you don't like me, but--well, I have an odd sort +of wish to do you a good turn. You had better have nothing to do with +Adrienne de Gervais." + +Diana stared at her in undisguised amazement, the quick colour rushing +into her face as it always did when she was startled or surprised. + +"But--but why?" she stammered. + +"I can't tell you why. Only take my advice and leave her alone." + +"But I thought her delightful," protested Diana. "And"--wistfully--"I +haven't many friends in London." + +"Miss de Gervais isn't quite all she seems. And your art should be +your friend--you don't need any other." + +Diana laughed. + +"You talk like old Baroni himself! But indeed I do want friends--I +haven't nearly reached the stage when art can take the place of nice +human people." + +Miss Lermontof regarded her dispassionately. + +"That's only because you're young--horribly young and warm-hearted." + +"You talk as if you yourself were a near relation of +Methuselah!"--laughing. + +"I'm thirty-five," returned Olga, "And that's old enough to know that +nine-tenths of your 'nice human people' are self-seeking vampires +living on the generosity of the other tenth. Besides, you have only to +wait till you come out professionally and you can have as many +so-called friends as you choose. You'll scarcely need to lift your +little finger and they'll come flocking round you. I don't think"-- +looking at her speculatively--"that you've any conception what your +voice is going to do for you. You see, it isn't just an ordinary good +voice--it's one of the exceptional voices that are only vouchsafed once +or twice in a century." + +"Still, I think I should like to have a few friends--now. _My_ friend, +I mean--not just the friends of my voice!"--with a smile. + +"Well, don't include Miss de Gervais in the number--or Max Errington +either." + +She watched Diana's sudden flush, and shrugging her shoulders, added +sardonically:-- + +"I suppose, however, it's useless to try and stop a marble rolling down +hill. . . . Well, later on, remember that I warned you." + +Diana stared into the fire for a moment in silence. Then she asked +with apparent irrelevance:-- + +"Is Mr. Errington married?" + +"He is not." Diana's heart suddenly sang within her. + +"Nor," continued Miss Lermontof keenly, "is there any likelihood of his +ever marrying." + +The song broke off abruptly. + +"I should have thought," said Diana slowly, "that he was just the kind +of man who _would_ marry. He is"--with a little effort--"very +delightful." + +Miss Lermontof got up to go. + +"You have a saying in England: _All is not gold that glitters_. It is +very good sense," she observed. + +"Do you mean"--Diana's eyes were suddenly apprehensive--"do you mean +that he has done anything wrong--dishonourable?" + +"I think," replied Olga Lermontof incisively, "that it would be very +dishonourable of him if he tried to--to make you care for him." + +She moved towards the door as she spoke, and Diana followed her. + +"But why--why do you tell me this?" she faltered. + +The Russian's queer green eyes held an odd expression as she answered:-- + +"Perhaps it's because I like you very much better than you do me. +You're one of the few genuine warm-hearted people I've met--and I don't +want you to be unhappy. Good-bye," she added carelessly, "thank you +for my tea." + +The door closed behind her, and Diana, returning to her seat by the +fire, sat staring into the flames, puzzling over what she had heard. + +Miss Lermontof's curious warning had frightened her a little. She +apparently possessed some intimate knowledge of the affairs both of Max +Errington and Adrienne de Gervais, and what she knew did not appear to +be very favourable to either of them. + +Diana had intuitively felt from the very beginning of her acquaintance +with Errington that there was something secret, something hidden, about +him, and in a way this had added to her interest in him. It had seized +hold of her imagination, kept him vividly before her mind as nothing +else could have done, and now Olga Lermontof's strange hints and +innuendos gave a fresh fillip to her desire to know in what way Max +Errington differed from his fellows. + +"It would be dishonourable of him to make you care," Miss Lermontof had +said. + +The words seemed to ring in Diana's ears, and side by side with them, +as though to add a substance of reality, came the memory of Errington's +own bitter exclamation: "I forgot that I'm a man barred out from all +that makes life worth living!" + +She felt as though she had drawn near some invisible web, of which +every now and then a single filament brushed against her--almost +impalpable, yet touching her with the fleetest and lightest of contacts. + + +During the weeks that followed, Diana became more or less an intimate +at Adrienne's house in Somervell Street. The actress seemed to have +taken a great fancy to her, and although she was several years Diana's +senior, the difference in age formed no appreciable stumbling-block to +the growth of the friendship between them. + +On her part, Diana regarded Adrienne with the enthusiastic devotion +which an older woman--more especially if she happens to be very +beautiful and occupying a somewhat unique position--frequently inspires +in one younger than herself, and Olga Lermontof's grave warning might +just as well have been uttered to the empty air. Diana's warm-hearted, +spontaneous nature swept it aside with an almost passionate loyalty and +belief in her new-found friend. + +Once Miss Lermontof had referred to it rather disagreeably. + +"So you've decided to make a friend of Miss de Gervais after all?" she +said. + +"Yes. And I think you've misjudged her utterly," Diana warmly assured +her. "Of course," she added, sensitively afraid that the other might +misconstrue her meaning, "I know you believed what you were saying, and +that you only said it out of kindness to me. But you were +mistaken--really you were." + +"Humph!" The Russian's eyes narrowed until they looked like two slits +of green fire. "Humph! I was wrong, was I? Nevertheless, I'm +perfectly sure that Adrienne de Gervais' past is a closed book to +you--although you call yourself her friend!" + +Diana turned away without reply. It was true--Olga Lermontof had laid +a finger on the weak spot in her friendship with Adrienne. The latter +never talked to her of her past life; their mutual attachment was built +solely around the present, and if by chance any question of Diana's +accidentally probed into the past, it was adroitly parried. Even of +Adrienne's nationality she was in ignorance, merely understanding, +along with the rest of the world, that she was of French extraction. +This assumption had probably been founded in the first instance upon +her name, and Adrienne never troubled either to confirm or contradict +it. + +Mrs. Adams, her companion-chaperon, always made Diana especially +welcome at the house in Somervell Street. + +"You must come again soon, my dear," she would say cordially. +"Adrienne makes few friends--and your visits are such a relaxation to +her. The life she leads is rather a strain, you know." + +At times Diana noticed a curious aloofness in her friend, as though her +professional success occupied a position of relatively small importance +in her estimation, and once she had commented on it half jokingly. + +"You don't seem to value your laurels one bit," she had said, as +Adrienne contemptuously tossed aside a newspaper containing a eulogy of +her claims to distinction which most actresses would have carefully cut +out and pasted into their book of critiques. + +"Fame?" Adrienne had answered. "What is it? Merely the bubble of a +day." + +"Well," returned Diana, laughing, "it's the aim and object of a good +many people's lives. It's the bubble I'm in pursuit of, and if I +obtain one half the recognition you have had, I shall be very content." + +Adrienne regarded her musingly. + +"You will be famous when the name of Adrienne de Gervais is known no +longer," she said at last. + +Diana stared at her in surprise. + +"But why? Even if I should succeed, within the next few years, you +will still be Adrienne de Gervais, the famous actress." + +Adrienne smiled across at her. + +"Ah, I cannot tell you why," she said lightly. "But--I think it will +be like that." + +Her eyes gazed dreamily into space, as though she perceived some vision +of the future, but whether that future were of rose and gold or only of +a dull grey, Diana could not tell. + +Of Max Errington she saw very little. It seemed as though he were +determined to avoid her, for she frequently saw him leaving Adrienne's +house on a day when she was expected there--hurrying away just as she +herself was approaching from the opposite end of the street. + +Only once or twice, when she had chanced to pay an unexpected visit, +had he come in and found her there. On these occasions his manner had +been studiously cold and indifferent, and any effort on her part +towards establishing a more friendly footing had been invariably +checked by some cruelly ironical remark, which had brought the blood to +her cheeks and, almost, the tears to her eyes. She reflected grimly +that Olga Lermontof's warning words had proved decidedly superfluous. + +Meanwhile, she had struck up a friendship with Errington's private +secretary, a young man of the name of Jerry Leigh, who was a frequent +visitor at Adrienne's house. Jerry was, in truth, the sort of person +with whom it was impossible to be otherwise than friendly. He was of a +delightful ugliness, twenty-five years of age, penniless except for the +salary he received from Errington, and he possessed a talent for +friendship much as other folk possess a talent for music or art or +dancing. + +Diana's first meeting with him had occurred quite by chance. Both +Adrienne and Mrs. Adams happened to be out one afternoon when she +called, and she was awaiting their return when the door of the +drawing-room suddenly opened to admit a remarkably plain young man, +who, on seeing her ensconced in one of the big arm-chairs, stood +hesitating as though undecided whether to remain or to take refuge in +instant flight. + +Adrienne had talked so much about Jerry--of whom she was exceedingly +fond--and had so often described his charming ugliness to Diana that +the latter was in no doubt at all as to whom the newcomer might be. + +She nodded to him reassuringly. + +"Don't run away," she said calmly, "I don't bite." + +The young man promptly closed the door and advanced into the room. + +"Don't you?" he said in relieved tones. "Thank you for telling me. +One never knows." + +"If you've come to see Miss de Gervais, I'm afraid you can't at +present, as she's out," pursued Diana. "I'm waiting for her." + +"Then we can wait together," returned Mr. Leigh, with an engaging +smile. "It will be much more amusing than waiting in solitude, won't +it?" + +"That I can't tell you--yet," replied Diana demurely. + +"I'll ask you again in half an hour," he returned undaunted. "I'm +Leigh, you know. Jerry Leigh, Errington's secretary." + +"I suppose, then, you're a very busy person?" + +"Well, pretty much so in the mornings and sometimes up till late at +night, but Errington's a rattling good 'boss' and very often gives me +an 'afternoon out.' That's why I'm here now. I'm off duty and Miss de +Gervais told me I might come to tea whenever I'm free. You +see"--confidentially--"I've very few friends in London." + +"Same here," responded Diana shortly. + +"No, not really?"--with obvious satisfaction. "Then we ought to pal up +together, oughtn't we?" + +"Don't you want my credentials?" asked Diana, smiling, + +"Lord, no! One has only to look at you." + +Diana laughed outright. + +"That's quite the nicest compliment I've ever received, Mr. Leigh," she +said. + +(It was odd that while Errington always made her feel rather small and +depressingly young, with Jerry Leigh she felt herself to be quite a +woman of the world.) + +"It isn't a compliment," protested Jerry stoutly. "It's just the +plain, unvarnished truth." + +"I'm afraid your 'boss' wouldn't agree with you." + +"Oh, nonsense!" + +"Indeed it isn't. He always treats me as though I were a hot potato, +and he were afraid of burning his fingers." + +Jerry roared. + +"Well, perhaps he's got good reason." + +Diana shook; her head smilingly. + +"Oh, no. It's not that. Mr. Errington doesn't like me." + +Jerry stared at her reflectively. + +"That couldn't be true," he said at last, with conviction. + +"I don't know that I like him--very much--either," pursued Diana. + +"You would if you really knew him," said the boy eagerly. "He's one of +the very best." + +"He's rather a mysterious person, don't you think?" + +Jerry regarded her very straightly. + +"Oh, well," he returned bluntly, "every man's a right to have his own +private affairs." + +Then there _was_ something! + +Diana felt her heart beat a little faster. She had thrown out the +remark as the merest feeler, and now his own secretary, the man who +must be nearer to him than any other, had given what was tantamount to +an acknowledgment of the fact that Errington's life held some secret. + +"Anyway"--Jerry was speaking again--"_I've_ got good reason to be +grateful to him. I was on my uppers when he happened along--and +without any prospect of re-soling. I'd played the fool at Monte Carlo, +and, like a brick, he offered me the job of private secretary, and I've +been with him ever since. I'd no references, either--he just took me +on trust." + +"That was very kind of him," said Diana slowly. + +"Kind! There isn't one man in a hundred who'll give a chance like that +to a young ass that's played the goat as I did." + +"No," agreed Diana. "But," she added, rather low, "he isn't always +kind." + +At this moment the door opened, and the subject of their conversation +entered the room. He paused on the threshold, and for an instant Diana +could have sworn that as his eyes met her own a sudden light of +pleasure flashed into their blue depths, only to be immediately +replaced by his usual look of cold indifference. He glanced round the +room, apparently somewhat surprised to find Diana and his secretary its +sole occupants. + +"We're all here now except our hostess," observed the latter +cheerfully, following his thought. + +"So it seems. I didn't know"--looking across from Jerry to Diana in a +puzzled way--"that you two were acquainted with each other." + +"We aren't--at least, we weren't," replied Jerry. "We met by chance, +like two angels that have made a bid for the same cloud." + +Errington smiled faintly. + +"And did you persuade your--fellow angel--to sing to you?" he asked +drily. + +"No. Does she sing?" + +"_Does she sing_? . . . Jerry, my young and ignorant friend, let me +introduce you to Miss Diana Quentin, the--" + +"Good Lord!" broke in Jerry, his face falling. "Are you Miss +Quentin--_the_ Miss Quentin? Of course I've heard all about +you.--you're going to be the biggest star in the musical firmament--and +here have I been gassing away about my little affairs just as though +you were an ordinary mortal like myself." + +Diana was beginning to laugh at the boy's nonsense when Errington cut +in quietly. + +"Then you've been making a great mistake, Jerry," he said. "Miss +Quentin doesn't in the least resemble ordinary mortals. She isn't +afflicted by like passions with ourselves, and she doesn't +understand--or forgive them." + +The words, uttered as though in jest, held an undercurrent of meaning +for Diana that sent the colour flying up under her clear skin. There +was a bitter taunt in them that none knew better than she how to +interpret. + +She winced under it, and a fierce resentment flared up within her that +he should dare to reproach, her--he, who had been the offender from +first to last. Always, now, he seemed to be laughing at her, mocking +her. He appeared an entirely different person from the man who had +been so careful of her welfare during the eventful journey they had +made together. + +She lifted her head a little defiantly. + +"No," she said, with significance. "I certainly don't understand--some +people." + +"Perhaps it's just as well," retorted Errington, unmoved. + +Jerry, sensing electricity in the atmosphere, looked troubled and +uncomfortable. He hadn't the faintest idea what they were talking +about, but it was perfectly clear to him that everything was not quite +as it should be between his beloved Max and this new friend, this jolly +little girl with the wonderful eyes--just like a pair of stars, by +Jove!--and, if rumour spoke truly, the even more wonderful voice. + +Bashfully murmuring something about "going down to see if Miss de +Gervais had come in yet," he bolted out of the room, leaving Max and +Diana alone together. + +Suddenly she turned and faced him. + +"Why--why are you always so unkind to me?" she burst out, a little +breathlessly. + +He lifted his brows. + +"I? . . . My dear Miss Quentin, I have no right to be either kind--or +unkind--to you. That is surely the privilege of friends. And you +showed me quite clearly, down at Crailing, that you did not intend to +admit me to your friendship." + +"I didn't," she exclaimed, and rushed on desperately. "Was it likely +that I should feel anything but gratitude--and liking for any one who +had done as much for me as you had?" + +"You forget," he said quietly. "Afterwards--I transgressed. And you +let me see that the transgression had wiped out my meritorious +deeds--completely. It was quite the best thing that could happen," he +added hastily, as she would have spoken. "I had no right, less right +than any man on earth, to do--what I did. I abide by your decision." + +The last words came slowly, meaningly. He was politely telling her +that any overtures of friendship would be rejected. + +Diana's pride lay in the dust, but she was determined he should not +knew it. With her head held high, she said stiffly:-- + +"I don't think I'll wait any longer for Adrienne. Will you tell her, +please, that I've gone back to Brutton Square?" + +"Brutton Square?" he repeated swiftly. "Do you live there?" + +"Yes. Have you any objection?" + +He disregarded her mocking query and continued:-- + +"A Miss Lermontof lives there. Is she, by any chance, a friend of +yours?" There seemed a hint of disapproval in his voice, and Diana +countered, with another question. + +"Why? Do you think I ought not to be friends with her?" + +"I? Oh, I don't think about it at all"--with a little half-foreign +shrug of his shoulders. "Miss Quentin's choice of friends is no +concern of mine." + +Unbidden, tears leaped into Diana's eyes at the cold satirical tones. +Surely, surely he had hurt her enough, for one day! Without a word she +turned and made her way blindly out of the room and down the stairs. +In the hall she almost ran into Jerry's arms. + +"Oh, are you going?" he asked, in tones of disappointment. + +"Yea, I'm afraid I mustn't wait any longer for Adrienne. I have some +work to do when I get back." + +Her voice shook a little, and Jerry, giving her a swift glance, could +see that her lashes were wet and her eyes misty with tears. + +"The brute!" he ejaculated mentally. "What's he done to her?" + +Aloud he merely said:-- + +"Will you have a taxi?" + +She nodded, and hailing one that chanced to be passing, he put her +carefully into it. + +"And--and I say," he said anxiously. "You didn't mind my talking to +you this afternoon, did you, Miss Quentin? I made 'rather free,' as +the servants say." + +"No, of course I didn't mind," she replied warmly, her spirits rising a +little. He was such a nice boy--the sort of boy one could be pals +with. "You must come and see me at Brutton Square. Come to tea one +day, will you?" + +"_Won't I_?" he said heartily. "Good-bye." And the taxi swept away +down the street. + +Jerry returned to the drawing-room to find Errington staring moodily +out of the window. + +"I say, Max," he said, affectionately linking his arm in that of the +older man. "What had you been saying to upset that dear little person?" + +"I?" + +"Yes. She was--crying." + +Jerry felt the arm against his own twitch, and continued relentlessly:-- + +"I believe you've been snubbing her. You know, old man, you have a +sort of horribly lordly, touch-me-not air about you when you choose. +But I don't see why you should choose with Miss Quentin. She's such an +awfully good sort." + +"Yes," agreed Errington. "Miss Quentin is quite charming." + +"She thinks you don't like her," pursued Jerry, after a moment's pause. + +"I--not like Miss Quentin? Absurd!" + +"Well, that's what she thinks, anyway," persisted Jerry. "She told me +so, and she seemed really sorry about it. She believes you don't want +to be friends with her." + +"Miss Quentin's friendship would be delightful. But--you don't +understand, Jerry--it's one of the delights I must forego." + +When Errington spoke with such a definite air of finality, his young +secretary knew from experience that he might as well drop the subject. +He could get nothing further out of Max, once the latter had adopted +that tone over any matter. So Jerry, being wise in his generation, +held his peace. + +Suddenly Errington faced round and laid his hands on the boy's shoulder. + +"Jerry," he said, and his voice shook with some deep emotion. "Thank +God--thank Him every day of your life--that you're free and +untrammelled. All the world's yours if you choose to take it. Some of +us are shackled--our arms tied behind our backs. And oh, my God! How +they ache to be free!" + +The blue eyes were full of a keen anguish, the stern mouth wry with +pain. Never before had Jerry seen him thus with the mask off, and he +felt as though he were watching a soul's agony unveiled. + +"Max . . . dear old chap . . ." he stammered. "Can't I help?" + +With an obvious effort Errington regained his composure, but his face +was grey as he answered:-- + +"Neither you nor any one else, Jerry, boy. I must dree my weird, as +the Scotch say. And that's the hard part of it--to be your own judge +and jury. A man ought not to be compelled to play the double role of +victim and executioner." + +"And must you? . . . No way out?" + +"None. Unless"--with a hard laugh--"the executioner throws up the game +and--runs away, allowing the victim to escape. And that's +impossible! . . . Impossible!" he reiterated vehemently, as though +arguing against some inner voice. + +"Let him rip," suggested Jerry. "Give the accused a chance!" + +Errington laughed more naturally. He was rapidly regaining his usual +self-possession. + +"Jerry, you're a good pal, but a bad adviser. Get thee behind me." + +Steps sounded on the stairs outside. Adrienne and Mrs. Adams had come +back, and Errington turned composedly to greet them, the veil of +reticence, momentarily swept aside by the surge of a sudden emotion, +falling once more into its place. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE YEAR'S FRUIT + +Spring had slipped into summer, summer had given place again to winter, +and once more April was come, with her soft breath blowing upon the +sticky green buds and bidding them open, whilst daffodils and tulips, +like slim sentinels, swayed above the brown earth, in a riot of tender +colour. + +There is something very fresh and charming about London in April. The +parks are aglow with young green, and the trees nod cheerfully to the +little breeze that dances round them, whispering of summer. Even the +houses perk up under their spruce new coats of paint, while every +window that can afford it puts forth its carefully tended box of +flowers. It is as though the old city suddenly awoke from her winter +slumber and preened herself like a bird making its toilet; there is an +atmosphere of renewal abroad--the very carters and cabmen seem +conscious of it, and acknowledge it with good-humoured smiles and a +flower worn jauntily in the buttonhole. + +Diana leaned far out of the open window of her room at Brutton Square, +sniffing up the air with its veiled, faint fragrance of spring, and +gazing down in satisfaction at the delicate shimmer of green which +clothed the trees and shrubs in the square below. + +The realisation that a year had slipped away since last the trees had +worn that tender green amazed her; it seemed almost incredible that +twelve whole months had gone by since the day when she had first come +to Brutton Square, and she and Bunty had joked together about the ten +commandments on the wall. + +The year had brought both pleasure and pain--as most years do--pleasure +in the friends she had gathered round her, Adrienne and Jerry and +Bunty--even with Olga Lermontof an odd, rather one-sided friendship had +sprung up, born of the circumstances which had knit their paths +together--pain in the soreness which still lingered from the hurt that +Errington had dealt her. Albeit, her life had been so filled with work +and play, her mind so much occupied, that a surface skin, as it were, +had formed over the wound, and it was only now and again that a sudden +throb reminded her of its existence. Love had brushed her with his +wings in passing, but she was hardly yet a fully awakened woman. + +Nevertheless, the brief episodes of her early acquaintance with +Errington had cut deep into a mind which had hitherto reflected nothing +beyond the simple happenings of a girlhood passed at a country rectory, +and the romantic flair of youth had given their memory a certain sacred +niche in her heart. Some day Fate would come along and take them down +from that shelf where they were stored, and dust them and present them +to her afresh with a new significance. + +For a brief moment Errington's kiss had roused her dormant womanhood, +and then the events of daily life had crowded round and lulled it +asleep once more. In swift succession there had followed the vivid +interest of increasing musical study, the stirrings of ambition, and a +whole world of new people to meet and rub shoulders with. + +So that the end of her second year in London found Diana still little +more than an impetuous, impulsive girl, possessed of a warm, +undisciplined nature, and of an unconscious desire to fulfil her being +along the most natural and easy lines, while in spirit she leaped +forward to the time when she should be plunged into professional life. + +The whole of her training under Baroni, with the big future that it +held, tended to give her a somewhat egotistical outlook, an instinctive +feeling that everything must of necessity subordinate itself to her +demands--an excellent foundation, no doubt, on which to build up a +reputation as a famous singer in a world where people are apt to take +you very much at your own valuation, but a poor preparation for the +sacrifices and self-immolation that love not infrequently demands. + +Above all else, this second year of study had brought in fullest +measure the development and enriching of her voice. Baroni had +schooled it with the utmost care, keeping always in view his purpose +that the coming June should witness her debut, and Diana, catching fire +from his enthusiasm, had answered to every demand he had made upon her. + +Her voice was now something to marvel at. It had matured into a rich +contralto of amazing compass, and with a peculiar thrilling quality +about it which gripped and held you almost as though some one had laid +a hand upon your heart. Baroni hugged himself as he realised what a +_furore_ in the musical world this voice would create when at last he +allowed the silence to be broken. Already there were whispers flying +about of the wonderful contralto he was training, of whom it was +rumoured that she would have the whole world at her feet from the +moment that Baroni produced her. + +The old _maestro_ had his plans all cut and dried. Early in June, just +when the season should be in full swing, there was to be a concert--a +recital with only Kirolski, the Polish violinist, and Madame Berthe +Louvigny, the famous French pianist, to assist. Those two names alone +would inevitably draw a big crowd of all the musical people who +mattered, and Diana's golden voice would do the rest. + +This was to be the solitary concert for the season, but, to whet the +appetite of society, Diana was also to appear at a single big +reception--"Baroni won't look at anything less than a ducal house with +Royalty present," as Jerry banteringly asserted--and then, while the +world was still agape with interest and excitement, the singer was to +be whisked away to Crailing for three months' holiday, and to accept no +more engagements until the winter. By that time, Baroni anticipated, +people would be feverishly impatient for her reappearance, and the +winter campaign would resolve itself into one long trail of glory. + +Diana had been better able latterly to devote herself to her work, as +Errington had been out of England for a time. So long as there was the +likelihood of meeting him at any moment, her nerves had been more or +less in a state of tension. There was that between them which made it +impossible for her to regard him with the cool, indifferent friendship +which he himself seemed so well able to assume. Despite herself, the +sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, caused a curious little +fluttering within her, like the flicker of a compass needle when it +quivers to the north. If he entered the same room as herself, she was +instantly aware of it, even though she might not chance to be looking +in his direction at the moment. Indeed, her consciousness of him was +so acute, so vital, that she sometimes wondered how it was possible +that one person could mean so much to another and yet himself feel no +reciprocal interest. And that he did feel none, his unvarying +indifference of manner had at last convinced her. + +But, even so, she was unable to banish him from her thoughts. This was +the first day of her return to London after the Easter holidays, which +she had spent as usual at Crailing Rectory, and already she was +wondering rather wistfully whether Errington would be back in England +during the summer. She felt that if only she could know why he had +changed so completely towards her, why the interest she had so +obviously awakened in him upon first meeting had waned and died, she +might be able to thrust him completely out of her thoughts, and accept +him merely as the casual acquaintance which was all he apparently +claimed to be. But the restless, irritable longing to know, to have +his incomprehensible behaviour explained, kept him ever in her mind. + +Only once or twice had his name been mentioned between Olga Lermontof +and herself, and on each occasion the former had repeated her caution, +admonishing Diana to have nothing to do with him. It almost seemed as +though she had some personal feeling of dislike towards him. Indeed +Diana had accused her of it, only to be met with a quiet negative. + +"No," she had replied serenely. "I don't dislike him. But I +disapprove of much that he does." + +"He is rather an attractive person," Diana ventured tentatively. + +Olga Lermontof shot a keen glance at her. + +"Well, I advise you not to give him your friendship," she said, +"or"--sneeringly--"anything of greater value." + +A sharp rat-tat at the door of her sitting-room recalled Diana's +wandering thoughts to the present. She threw a glance of half-comic +dismay at the state of her sitting-room--every available chair and +table seemed to be strewn with the contents of the trunks she was +unpacking--and then, with a resigned shrug of her shoulders, she +crossed to the door and threw it open. Bunty was standing outside. + +"What is it?" Diana was beginning, when she caught sight of a pleasant, +ugly face appearing over little Miss Bunting's shoulder. "Oh, Jerry, +is it you?" she exclaimed delightedly. + +"He insisted on coming up, Miss Quentin," said Bunty, "although I told +him you had only just arrived and would be in the middle of unpacking." + +"I've got an important message to deliver," asserted Jerry, grinning, +and shaking both Diana's hands exuberantly. + +"Oh, never mind the unpacking," cried Diana, beginning to bundle the +things off the tables and chairs back into one of the open trunks. +"Bunty darling, help me to clear a space, and then go and order tea for +two up here--and expense be blowed! Oh, and I'll put a match to the +fire--it's quite cold enough. Come in, Jerry, and tell me all the +news." + +"I'll light that fire first," said Jerry, practically. "We can talk +when Bunty darling brings our tea." + +Miss Bunting shook her head at him and tried to frown but as no one +ever minded in the least what Jerry said, her effort at propriety was a +failure, and she retreated to set about the tea, observing +maliciously:-- + +"I'll send 'Mrs. Lawrence darling' up to talk to you, Mr. Leigh." + +"Great Jehosaphat!"--Jerry flew after her to the door--"If you do, I'm +off. That woman upsets my digestion--she's so beastly effusive. I +thought she was going to kiss me last time." + +Miss Bunting laughed as she disappeared downstairs. + +"You're safe to-day," she threw back at him. "She's out." + +Jerry returned to his smouldering fire and proceeded to encourage it +with the bellows till, by the time the tea came up, the flames were +leaping and crackling cheerfully in the little grate. + +"And now," said Diana, as they settled themselves for a comfortable +yarn over the teacups, "tell me all the news. Oh by the way, what's +your important message? I don't believe"--regarding him +severely--"that you've got one at all. It was just an excuse." + +"It wasn't, honour bright. It's from Miss de Gervais--she sent me +round to see you expressly. You know, while Errington's away I call at +her place for orders like the butcher's boy every morning. The boss +asked me to look after her and make myself useful during his absence." + +"Well," said Diana impatiently. "What's the message?" It did not +interest her in the least to hear about the arrangements Max had made +for Adrienne's convenience. + +"Miss de Gervais is having a reception--'Hans Breitmann gif a barty,' +you know--" + +"Of course I know," broke in Diana irritably, "seeing that I'm asked to +it." + +Jerry continued patiently. + +"And she wants you as a special favour to sing for her. As a matter of +fact there are to be one or two bigwigs there whom she thinks it might +be useful for you to meet--influence, you know," he added, waving his +hand expansively, "push, shove, hacking, wire-pulling--" + +"Oh, be quiet, Jerry," interrupted Diana, laughing in spite of herself. +"It's no good, you know. It's dear of Adrienne to think of it, but +Baroni won't let me do it. He hasn't allowed me to sing anywhere this +last year." + +"Doesn't want to take the cream off the milk, I suppose," said Jerry, +with a grin. "But, as a matter of fact, he _has_ given permission this +time. Miss de Gervais went to see him about it herself, and he's +consented. I've got a letter for you from the old chap"--producing it +as he spoke. + +"Adrienne is a marvel," said Diana, as she slit the flap of the +envelope. "I'm sure Baroni would have refused any one else, but she +seems to be able to twist him round her little finger." + +"Dear Mis Quentin"--Baroni had written in his funny, cramped +handwriting--"You may sing for Miss de Gervais. I have seen the list +of guests and it can do no harm--possibly a little good. Yours very +sincerely, CARLO BARONI." + +"Miss de Gervais must have a 'way' with her," said Jerry meditatively. +"I observe that even my boss always does her bidding like a lamb." + +Diana poured herself out a second cup of tea before she asked +negligently:-- + +"When's your 'boss' returning? It seems to me he's allowing you to +live the life of the idle rich. Will he be back for Adrienne's +reception?" + +"No. About a week afterwards, I expect." + +"Where's he been?" + +"Oh, all over the shop--I've had letters from him from half the +capitals in Europe. But he's been in Russia longest of all, I think." + +"Russia?"--musingly. "I suppose he isn't a Russian by any chance?" + +"I've never asked him," returned Jerry shortly. + +"He is certainly not pure English. Look at his high cheek-bones. And +his temperament isn't English, either," she added, with a secret smile. + +Jerry remained silent. + +"Don't you think it's rather funny that we none of us know anything +about him?--I mean beyond the mere fact that his name is Errington and +that he's a well-known playwright." + +"Why do you want to know more?" growled Jerry. + +"Well, I think there is something behind, something odd about him. +Olga Lermontof is always hinting that there is." + +"Look here, Diana," said Jerry, getting rather red. "Don't let's talk +about Errington. You know we always get shirty with each other when we +do. I'm not going to pry into his private concerns--and as for Miss +Lermontof, she's the type of woman who simply revels in making +mischief." + +"But it _is_ funny Mr. Errington should be so--so reserved about +himself," persisted Diana. "Hasn't he ever told you anything?" + +"No, he has not," replied Jerry curtly. "Nor should I ever ask him to. +I'm quite content to take him as I find him." + +"All the same, I believe Miss Lermontof knows something about +him--something not quite to his credit." + +"I swear she doesn't," burst out Jerry violently. "Just because he +doesn't choose to blab out all his private affairs to the world at +large, that black-browed female Tartar must needs imagine he has +something to conceal. It's damnable! I'd stake my life Errington's as +straight as a die--and always has been." + +"You're a good friend, Jerry," said Diana, rather wistfully. + +"Yes, I am," he returned stoutly. "And so are you, as a rule. I can't +think why you're so beastly unfair to Errington." + +"You forget," she said swiftly, "he's not my friend. And perhaps--he +hasn't always been quite fair to me." + +"Oh, well, let's drop the subject now"--Jerry wriggled his broad +shoulders uncomfortably. "Tell me, how are the Rector and--and Miss +Stair?" + +The previous summer Jerry had spent a week at Red Gables, and had made +Joan's acquaintance. Apparently the two had found each other's society +somewhat absorbing, for Adrienne had laughingly declared that she +didn't quite know whether Jerry were really staying at Red Gables or at +the Rectory. + +"Pobs and Joan sent all sorts of nice messages for you," said Diana, +smiling a little. "They're both coming up to town for my recital, you +know." + +"Are they?"--eagerly. "Hurrah! . . . We must go on the bust when it's +over. The concert will be in the afternoon, won't it?" Diana nodded. +"Then we must have a commemoration dinner in the evening. Oh, why am I +not a millionaire? Then I'd stand you all dinner at the 'Carlton.'" + +He was silent a moment, then went on quickly: + +"I shall have to make money somehow. A man can't marry on my screw as +a secretary, you know." + +Diana hastily concealed a smile. + +"I didn't know you were contemplating matrimony," she observed. + +"I'm not"--reddening a little. "But--well, one day I expect I shall. +It's quite the usual sort of thing--done by all the best people. But +it can't be managed on two hundred a year! And that's the net amount +of my princely income." + +"But I thought that your people had plenty of money?" + +"So they have--trucks of it. Coal-trucks!"--with a debonair reference +to the fact that Leigh _père_ was a wealthy coal-owner. "But, you see, +when I was having my fling, which came to such an abrupt end at Monte, +the governor got downright ratty with me--kicked up no end of a shine. +Told me not to darken his doors again, and that I might take my own +road to the devil for all he cared, and generally played the part of +the outraged parent. I must say," he added ingenuously, "that the old +boy had paid my debts and set me straight a good many times before he +_did_ cut up rusty." + +"You're the only child, aren't you?" Jerry nodded. "Oh, well then, of +course he'll come round in time--they always do. I shouldn't worry a +bit if I were you." + +"Well," said Jerry hesitatingly, "I did think that perhaps if I went to +him some day with a certificate of good character and steady work from +Errington, it might smooth matters a bit. I'm fond of the governor, +you know, in spite of his damn bad temper--and it must be rather rotten +for the old chap living all by himself at Abbotsleigh." + +"Yes, it must. One fine day you'll make it up with him, Jerry, and +he'll slay the fatted calf and you'll have no end of a good time." + +Just then the clock of a neighbouring church chimed the half-hour, and +Jerry jumped to his feet in a hurry. + +"My hat! Half-past six! I must be toddling. What a squanderer of +unconsidered hours you are, Diana! . . . Well, by-bye, old girl; it's +good to see you back in town. Then I may tell Miss de Gervais that +you'll sing for her?" + +Diana nodded. + +"Of course I will. It will be a sort of preliminary canter for my +recital." + +"And when that event comes off, you'll sail past the post lengths in +front of any one else." + +And with that Jerry took his departure. A minute later Diana heard the +front door bang, and from the window watched him striding along the +street. He looked back, just before he turned the corner, and waved +his hand cheerily. + +"Nice boy!" she murmured, and then set about her unpacking in good +earnest. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +MAX ERRINGTON'S RETURN + +It was the evening of Adrienne's reception, and Diana was adding a few +last touches to her toilette for the occasion. Bunty had been playing +the part of lady's maid, and now they both stood back to observe the +result of their labours. + +"You do look nice!" remarked Miss Bunting, in a tone of satisfaction. + +Diana glanced half-shyly into the long glass panel of the wardrobe +door. There was something vivid and arresting about her to-night, as +though she were tremulously aware that she was about to take the first +step along her road as a public singer. A touch of excitement had +added an unwonted brilliance to her eyes, while a faint flush came and +went swiftly in her cheeks. + +Bunty, without knowing quite what it was that appealed, was suddenly +conscious of the sheer physical charm of her. + +"You are rather wonderful," she said consideringly. + +A sense of the sharp contrast between them smote Diana almost +painfully--she herself, young and radiant, holding in her slender +throat a key that would unlock the doors of the whole world, and beside +her the little boarding-house help, equally young, and with all youth's +big demands pent up within her, yet ahead of her only a drab vista of +other boarding-houses--some better, some worse, mayhap--but always +eating the bread of servitude, her only possible way of escape by means +of matrimony with some little underpaid clerk. + +And what had Bunty done to deserve so poor a lot? Hers was +unquestionably by far the finer character of the two, as Diana frankly +admitted to herself. In truth, the apparent injustices of fate made a +riddle hard to read. + +"And you,"--Diana spoke impulsively--"you are the dearest thing +imaginable. I wish you were coming with me." + +"I should like to hear you sing in those big rooms," acknowledged +Bunty, a little wistfully. + +"When I give my recital you shall have a seat in the front row," Diana +promised, as she picked up her gloves and music-case. + +A tap sounded at the door. + +"Are you ready?" inquired Olga Lermontof a voice from outside. + +Bunty opened the door. + +"Oh, come in, Miss Lermontof. Yes, Miss Quentin is quite ready, and I +must run away now." + +Olga came in and stood for a moment looking at Diana. Then she +deliberately stepped close to her, so that their reflections showed +side by side in the big mirror. + +"Black and white angels--quite symbolical," she observed, with a short +laugh. + +She was dressed entirely in black, and her sable figure made a +startling foil to Diana's slender whiteness. + +"Nervous?" she asked laconically, noticing the restless tapping of the +other's foot. + +"I believe I am," replied Diana, smiling a little. + +"You needn't be." + +"I should be terrified if anyone else were accompanying me. But, +somehow, I think you always give me confidence when I'm singing." + +"Probably because I'm always firmly convinced of your ultimate success." + +"No, no. It isn't that. It's because you're the most perfect +accompanist any one could have." + +Miss Lermontof swept her a mocking curtsey. + +"_Mille remercîments_!" Then she laughed rather oddly. "I believe you +still have no conception of the glory of your voice, you queer child." + +"Is it really so good?" asked Diana, with the genuine artist's craving +to be reassured. + +Olga Lermontof looked at her speculatively. + +"I suppose you can't understand it at present," she said, after a +pause. "You will, though, when you've given a few concerts and seen +its effect upon the audience. Now, come along; it's time we started." + +They found Adrienne's rooms fairly full, but not in the least +overcrowded. The big double doors between the two drawing-rooms had +been thrown open, and the tide of people flowed back and forth from one +room to the other. A small platform had been erected at one end, and +as Diana and Miss Lermontof entered, a French _diseuse_ was just +ascending it preparatory to reciting in her native tongue. + +The recitation--vivid, accompanied by the direct, expressive gesture +for which Mademoiselle de Bonvouloir was so famous--was followed at +appropriate intervals by one or two items of instrumental music, and +then Diana found herself mounting the little platform, and a hush +descended anew upon the throng of people, the last eager chatterers +twittering into silence as Olga Lermontof struck the first note of the +song's prelude. + +Diana was conscious of a small sea of faces all turned towards her, +most of them unfamiliar. She could just see Adrienne smiling at her +from the back of the room, and near the double doors Jerry was standing +next a tall man whose back was towards the platform as he bent to move +aside a chair that was in the way. The next moment he had straightened +himself and turned round, and with a sudden, almost agonising leap of +the heart Diana saw that it was Max Errington. + +He had come back! After that first wild throb her heart seemed, to +stand still, the room grew dark around her, and, she swayed a little +where she stood. + +"Nervous!" murmured one man to another, beneath his breath. + +Olga Lermontof had finished the prelude, and, finding that Diana had +failed to come in, composedly recommenced it. Diana was dimly +conscious of the repetition, and then the mist gradually cleared away +from before her eyes, and this time, when the accompanist played the +bar of her entry, the habit of long practice prevailed and she took up +the voice part with accurate precision. + +The hush deepened in the room. Perhaps the very emotion under which +Diana was labouring added to the charm of her wonderful voice--gave it +an indescribable appeal which held the critical audience, familiar with +all the best that the musical world could offer, spell-bound. + +When she ceased, and the last exquisite note had vibrated into silence, +the enthusiasm of the applause that broke out would have done justice +to a theatre pit audience rather than to a more or less blasé society +crowd. And when the whisper went round that this was to be her only +song--that Baroni had laid his veto upon her singing twice--the +clapping and demands for an encore were redoubled. + +Olga Lermontof's eyes, roaming over the room, rested at last upon the +face of Max Errington, and with the recollection of Diana's hesitancy +at the beginning of the song a brief smile flashed across her face. + +"What shall I do?" Diana, who had bowed repeatedly without stemming +the applause, turned to the accompanist, a little flushed with the +thrill of this first public recognition of her gifts. + +"Sing 'The Haven of Memory,'" whispered Olga. + +It was a sad little love lyric which Baroni himself had set to music +specially for the voice of his favourite pupil, and as Diana's low rich +notes took up the plaintive melody, the audience settled itself down +with a sigh of satisfaction to listen once more. + + + Do you remember + Our great love's pure unfolding, + The troth you gave, + And prayed for God's upholding, + Long and long ago? + + Out of the past + A dream--and then the waking-- + Comes back to me, + Of love and love's forsaking + Ere the summer waned. + + Ah! let me dream + That still a little kindness + Dwelt in the smile + That chid my foolish blindness, + When you said good-bye. + + Let me remember, + When I am very lonely, + How once your love + But crowned and blessed me only, + Long and long ago! [1] + + +The haunting melody ceased, and an infinitesimal pause ensued before +the clapping broke out. It was rather subdued this time; more than one +pair of eyes were looking at the singer through the grey mist of memory. + +An old lady with very white hair and a reputation for a witty tongue +that had been dipped in vinegar came up to Diana as she descended from +the platform. + +"My dear," she said, and the keen old eyes were suddenly blurred and +dim. "I want to thank you. One is apt to forget--when one is very +lonely--that we've most of us worn love's crown just once--if only for +a few moments of our lives. . . . And it's good to be reminded of it, +even though it may hurt a little." + +"That was the Dowager Duchess of Linfield," murmured Olga, when the old +lady had moved away again. "They say she was madly in love with an +Italian opera singer in the days of her youth. But, of course, at that +time he was quite unknown and altogether ineligible, so she married the +late Duke, who was old enough to be her father. By the time he died +the opera singer was dead, too." + +That was Diana's first taste of the power of a beautiful voice to +unlock the closed chambers of the heart where lie our hidden +memories--the long pain of years, sometimes unveiled to those whose +gifts appeal directly to the emotions. It sobered her a little. This, +then, she thought, this leaf of rue that seemed to bring the sadness of +the world so close, was interwoven with the crown of laurel. + +"Won't you say how do you do to me, Miss Quentin? I've been deputed by +Miss de Gervais to see that you have some supper after breaking all our +hearts with your singing." + +Diana, roused from her thoughts, looked up to see Max Errington +regarding her with the old, faintly amused mockery in his eyes. + +She shook hands. + +"I don't believe you've got a heart to break," she retorted, smiling. + +"Oh, mine was broken long before I heard you sing. Otherwise I would +not answer for the consequences of that sad little song of yours. What +is it called?" + +"'The Haven of Memory,'" replied Diana, as Errington skilfully piloted +her to a small table standing by itself in an alcove of the supper-room. + +"What a misleading name! Wouldn't 'The _Hell_ of Memory' be more +appropriate--more true to life?" + +"I suppose," answered Diana soberly, "that it might appear differently +to different people." + +"You mean that the garden of memory may have several aspects--like a +house? I'm afraid mine faces north. Yours, I expect, is full of +spring flowers"--smiling a little quizzically. + +"With the addition of a few weeds," she answered. + +"Weeds? Surely not? Who planted them there?" His keen, penetrating +eyes were fixed on her face. + +Diana was silent, her fingers trifling nervously with the salt in one +of the little silver cruets, first piling it up into a tiny mound, and +then flattening it down again and patterning its surface with +criss-cross lines. + +There was no one near. In the alcove Errington had chosen, the two +were completely screened from the rest of the room by a carved oak +pillar and velvet curtains. + +He laid his hand over the restless fingers, holding them in a sure, +firm clasp that brought back vividly to her mind the remembrance of +that day when he had helped her up the steps of the quayside at +Crailing. + +"Diana"--his voice deepened a little--"am I responsible for any of the +weeds in your garden?" + +Her hand trembled a little under his. After a moment she threw back +her head defiantly and met his glance. + +"Perhaps there's a stinging-nettle or two labelled with your name," she +answered lightly. "The Nettlewort Erringtonia," she added, smiling. + +Diana was growing up rapidly. + +"I suppose," he said slowly, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you +that I'm sorry--that I'd uproot them if I could?" + +She looked away from him in silence. He could not see her expression, +only the pure outline of her cheek and a little pulse that was beating +rapidly in her throat. + +With a sudden, impetuous movement he released her hand, almost flinging +it from him. + +"My application for the post of gardener is refused, I see," he said. +"And quite rightly, too. It was great presumption on my part. After +all"--with bitter mockery--"what are a handful of nettles in the garden +of a _prima donna_? They'll soon be stifled beneath the wreaths of +laurel and bouquets that the world will throw you. You'll never even +feel their sting." + +"You are wrong," said Diana, very low, "quite wrong. They _have_ stung +me. Mr. Errington"--and as she turned to him he saw that her eyes were +brimming with tears--"why can't we be friends? You--you have helped me +so many times that I don't understand why you treat me now . . . almost +as though I were an enemy?" + +"An enemy? . . . You!" + +"Yes," she said steadily. + +He was silent. + +"I don't wish to be," she went on, an odd wistfulness in her voice. +"Can't we--be friends?" + +Errington pushed his plate aside abruptly. + +"You don't know what you're offering me," he said, in hurrying tones. +"If I could only take it! . . . But I've no right to make friends--no +right. I think I've been singled out by fate to live alone." + +"Yet you are friends with Miss de Gervais," she said quickly. + +"I write plays for her," he replied evasively. "So that we are obliged +to see a good deal of each other." + +"And apparently you don't want to be friends with me." + +"There can be little in common between a mere quill-driver and--a +_prima donna_." + +She turned on him swiftly. + +"You seem to forget that at present you are a famous dramatist, while I +am merely a musical student." + +"You divested yourself of that title for ever this evening," he +returned, "It was no 'student' who sang 'The Haven of Memory.'" + +"All the same I shall have to study for a long time yet, Baroni tells +me,"--smiling a little. + +"In that sense a great artiste is always a student. But what I meant +by saying that a mere writer has no place in a prima donna's life was +that, whereas my work is more or less a hobby, and my little bit of +'fame'--as you choose to call it--merely a side-issue, _your_ work will +be your whole existence. You will live for it entirely--your art and +the world's recognition of it will absorb every thought. There will be +no room in your life for the friendship of insignificant people like +myself." + +"Try me," she said demurely. + +He swung round on her with a sudden fierceness. + +"By God!" he exclaimed. "If you knew the temptation . . . if you knew +how I long to take what you offer!" + +She smiled at him--a slow, sweet smile that curved her mouth, and +climbing to her eyes lit them with a soft radiance. + +"Well?" she said quietly. "Why not?" + +He got up abruptly, and going to the window, stood with his back to +her, looking out into the night. + +She watched him consideringly. Intuitively she knew that he was +fighting a battle with himself. She had always been conscious of the +element of friction in their intercourse. This evening it had suddenly +crystallised into a definite realisation that although this man desired +to be her friend--Truth, at the bottom of her mental well, whispered +perhaps even something more--he was caught back, restrained by the +knowledge of some obstacle, some hindrance to their friendship of which +she was entirely ignorant. + +She waited in silence. + +Presently he turned back to her, and she gathered from his expression +that he had come to a decision. In the moment that elapsed before he +spoke she had time to be aware of a sudden, almost breathless anxiety, +and instinctively she let her lids fall over her eyes lest he should +read and understand the apprehension in them. + +"Diana." + +His voice came gently and gravely to her ears. With an effort she +looked up and found him regarding her with eyes from which all the old +ironical mockery had fled. They were very steady and kind--kinder than +she had ever believed it possible for them to be. Her throat +contracted painfully, and she stretched out her hand quickly, +pleadingly, like a child. + +He took it between both his, holding it with the delicate care one +accords a flower, as though fearful of hurting it. + +"Diana, I'm going to accept--what you offer me. Heaven knows I've +little right to! There are . . . worlds between you, and me. . . . +But if a man dying of thirst in the desert finds a pool--a pool of +crystal water--is he to be blamed if he drinks--if he quenches his +thirst for a moment? He knows the pool is not his--never can he his. +And when the rightful owner comes along--why, he'll go away, back to +the loneliness of the desert again. But he'll always remember that his +lips have once drunk from the pool--and been refreshed." + +Diana spoke very low and wistfully. + +"He--he must go back to the desert?" + +Errington bent his head. + +"He must go back," he answered. "The gods have decreed him outcast +from life's pleasant places; he is ordained to wander alone--always." + +Diana drew her hand suddenly away from his, and the hasty movement +knocked over the little silver salt-cellar on the table, scattering the +salt on the cloth between them. + +"Oh!" she cried, flushing with distress. "I've spilled the salt +between us--we shall quarrel." + +The electricity in the atmosphere was gone, and Errington laughed gaily. + +"I'm not afraid. See,"--he filled their glasses with wine--"let's +drink to our compact of friendship." + +He raised his glass, clinking it gently against hers, and they drank. +But as Diana replaced her glass on the table, she looked once more in a +troubled way at the little heap of salt that lay on the white cloth. + +"I wish I hadn't spilled it," she said uncertainly. "It's an ill omen. +Some day we shall quarrel." + +Her eyes were grave and brooding, as though some prescience of evil +weighed upon her. + +Errington lifted his glass, smiling. + +"Far be the day," he said lightly. + +But her eyes, meeting his, were still clouded with foreboding. + + +[1] This song, "The Haven of Memory," has been set to music by Isador +Epstein: published by G. Ricordi & Co., 265 Regent Street, W. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE FRIEND WHO STOOD BY + +As the day fixed for her recital approached, Diana became a prey to +intermittent attacks of nerves. + +"Supposing I should fail?" she would sometimes exclaim, in a sudden +spasm of despair. + +Then Baroni would reply quite contentedly:-- + +"My dear Mees Quentin, you will not fail. God has given you the +instrument, and I, Baroni, I haf taught you how to use it. _Gran Dio_! +Fail!" This last accompanied by a snort of contempt. + +Or it might be Olga Lermontof to whom Diana would confide her fears. +She, equally with the old _maestro_, derided the possibility of +failure, and there was something about her cool assurance of success +that always sufficed to steady Diana's nerves, at least for the time +being. + +"As I have you to accompany me," Diana told her one day, when she was +ridiculing the idea of failure, "I may perhaps get through all right. +I simply _lean_ on you when I'm singing. I feel like a boat floating +on deep water--almost as though I couldn't sink." + +"Well, you can't." Miss Lermontof spoke with conviction. "I shan't +break down--I could play everything you sing blindfold!--and your voice +is . . . Oh, well"--hastily--"I can't talk about your voice. But I +believe I could forgive you anything in the world when you sing." + +Diana stared at her in surprise. She had no idea that Olga was +particularly affected by her singing. + +"It's rather absurd, isn't it?" continued the Russian, a mocking light +in her eyes that somehow reminded Diana of Max Errington. "But there +it is. A little triangular box in your throat and a breath of air from +your lungs--and immediately you hold one's heart in your hands!" + +Alan Stair and Joan came up to London the day before that on which the +recital was to take place, since Diana had insisted that they must fix +their visit so that the major part of it should follow, instead of +preceding the concert. + +"For"--as she told them--"if I fail, it will be nice to have you two +dear people to console me, and if I succeed, I shall be just in the +right mood to take a holiday and play about with you both. Whereas +until my fate is sealed, one way or the other, I shall be like a bear +with a sore head." + +But when the day actually arrived her nervousness completely vanished, +and she drove down to the hall composedly as though she were about to +appear at her fiftieth concert rather than at her first. Olga +Lermontof regarded her with some anxiety. She would have preferred her +to show a little natural nervous excitement beforehand; there would be +less danger of a sudden attack of stage-fright at the last moment. + +Baroni was in the artistes' room when they arrived, outwardly cool, but +inwardly seething with mingled pride and excitement and vicarious +apprehension. He hurried forward to greet them, shaking Diana by both +hands and then leading her up to the great French pianist, Madame +Berthe Louvigny. + +The latter was a tall, grave-looking woman, with a pair of the most +lustrous brown eyes Diana had ever seen. They seemed to glow with a +kind of inward fire under the wide brow revealed beneath the sweep of +her dark hair. + +"So thees ees your wonder-pupil, Signor," she said, her smile radiating +kindness and good-humour. "Mademoiselle, I weesh you all the success +that I know Signor Baroni hopes for you." + +She talked very rapidly, with a strong foreign accent, and her gesture +was so expressive that one felt it was almost superfluous to add speech +to the quick, controlled movement. Hands, face, shoulders--she seemed +to speak with her whole body, yet without conveying any impression of +restlessness. There was not a single meaningless movement; each added +point to the rapid flow of speech, throwing it into vivid relief like +the shading of a picture. + +While she was still chatting to Diana, a slender man with bright hair +tossed back over a finely shaped head came into the artistes' room, +carrying in his hand a violin-case which he deposited on the table with +as much care as though it were a baby. He shook hands with Olga +Lermontof, and then Baroni swept him into his net. + +"Kirolski, let me present you to Miss Quentin. She will one day stand +amongst singers where you stand amongst the world's violinists." + +Kirolski bowed, and glanced smilingly from Baroni to Diana. + +"I've no doubt Miss Quentin will do more than that," he said. "A +friend of mine heard her sing at Miss de Gervais' reception not long +ago, and he has talked of nothing else ever since. I am very pleased +to meet you, Miss Quentin." And he bowed again. + +Diana was touched by the simple, unaffected kindness of the two great +artistes who were to assist at her recital. It surprised her a little; +she had anticipated the disparaging, almost inimical attitude towards a +new star so frequently credited to professional musicians, and had +steeled herself to meet it with indifference. She forgot that when you +are at the top of the tree there is little cause for envy or +heart-burning, and graciousness becomes an easy habit. It is in the +struggle to reach the top that the ugly passions leap into life. + +Presently there came sounds of clapping from the body of the hall; some +of the audience were growing impatient, and the news that there was a +packed house filtered into the artistes' room. Almost as in a dream +Diana watched Kirolski lift his violin from its cushiony bed and run +his fingers lightly over the strings in a swift arpeggio. Then he +tightened his bow and rubbed the resin along its length of hair, while +Olga Lermontof looked through a little pile of music for the duet for +violin and piano with which the recital was to commence. + +The outbreaks of clapping from in front grew more persistent, +culminating in a veritable roar of welcome as Kirolski led the pianist +on to the platform. Then came a breathless, expectant silence, broken +at last by the stately melody of the first movement. + +To Diana it seemed as though the duet were very quickly over, and +although the applause and recalls were persistent, no encore was given. +Then she saw Olga Lermontof mounting the platform steps preparatory to +accompanying Kirolski's solo, and with a sudden violent reaction from +her calm composure she realised that the following item on the +programme must be the first group of her own songs. + +For an instant the room swayed round her, then with a little gasp she +clutched Baroni's arm. + +"I can't do it! . . . I can't do it!" Her voice was shaking, and +every drop of colour had drained away from her face. + +Baroni turned instantly, his eyes full of concern. + +"My dear, but that is nonsense. You _cannot help_ doing it--you know +those songs inside out and upside down. You need haf no fear. Do not +think about it at all. Trust your voice--it will sing what it knows." + +But Diana still clung helplessly to his arm, shivering from head to +foot, and Madame de Louvigny hurried across the room and joined her +assurances to those of the old _maestro_. She also added a +liqueur-glass of brandy to her soothing, encouraging little speeches, +but Diana refused the former with a gesture of repugnance, and seemed +scarcely to hear the latter. She was dazed by sheer nervous terror, +and stood there with her hands tightly clasped together, her body rigid +and taut with misery. + +Baroni was nearly demented. If she should fail to regain her nerve the +whole concert would he a disastrous fiasco. Possible headlines from +the morrow's newspapers danced before his eyes: "NERVOUS COLLAPSE OF +MISS DIANA QUENTIN," "SIGNOR BARONI'S NEW PRIMA DONNA FAILS TO +MATERIALISE." + +"_Diavolo_!" he exclaimed distractedly. "But what shall we do? What +shall we do?" + +"What is the matter?" + +At the sound of the cool, level tones the little agitated group of +three in the artistes' room broke asunder, and Baroni hurried towards +the newcomer. + +"Mr. Errington, we are in despair--" And with a gesture towards +Diana he briefly explained the predicament. + +Max nodded, his keen eyes considering the shrinking figure leaning +against the wall. + +"Don't worry, Baroni," he said quietly. "I'll pull her round." Then, +as a burst of applause crashed out from the hall, he whispered hastily: +"Get Kirolski to give an encore. It will allow her a little more time." + +Baroni nodded, and a minute or two later the audience was cheering the +violinist's reappearance, whilst Errington strode across the room to +Diana's side. + +"How d'you do?" he said, holding out his hand exactly as though nothing +in the world were the matter. "I thought you'd allow me to come round +and wish you luck, so here I am." + +He spoke in such perfectly normal, everyday tones that unconsciously +Diana's rigid muscles relaxed, and she extended her hand in response. + +"I'm feeling sick with fright," she replied, giving him a wavering +smile. + +Max laughed easily. + +"Of course. Otherwise you wouldn't be the artiste that you are. But +it will all go the moment you're on the platform." + +She looked up at him with a faint hope in her eyes. + +"Do you really think so?" she whispered. + +"I'm sure. It always does," he lied cheerfully. "I'll tell you who is +far more nervous than you are, and that's the Rector. Miss Stair and +Jerry were almost forcibly holding him down in his seat when I left +them. He's disposed to bolt out of the hall and await results at the +hotel." + +Diana laughed outright. + +"How like him! Poor Pobs!" + +"You'd better give him a special smile when you get on the platform to +reassure him," continued Max, his blue eyes smiling down at her. + +The violin solo had drawn to a close--Kirolski had already returned a +third time to bow his acknowledgments--and Errington was relieved to +see that the look of strain had gone out of her face, although she +still appeared rather pale and shaken. + +One or two friends of the violinist's were coming in at the door of the +artistes' room as Olga Lermontof preceded him down the platform steps. +There was a little confusion, the sound of a fall, and simultaneously +some one inadvertently pushed the door to. The next minute the +accompanist was the centre of a small crowd of anxious, questioning +people. She had tripped and stumbled to her knees on the threshold of +the room, and, as she instinctively stretched out her hand to save +herself, the door had swung hack trapping two of her fingers in the +hinge. + +A hubbub of dismay arose. Olga was white with pain, and her hand was +so badly squeezed and bruised that it was quite obvious she would be +unable to play any more that day. + +"I'm so sorry, Miss Quentin," she murmured faintly. + +In her distress about the accident, Diana had for the moment overlooked +the fact that it would affect her personally, but now, as Olga's words +reminded her that the accompanist on whom she placed such utter +reliance would be forced to cede her place to a substitute, her former +nervousness returned with redoubled force. It began to look as though +she would really be unable to appear, and Baroni wrung his hands in +despair. + +It was a moment for speedy action. The audience were breaking into +impatient clapping, and from the back of the hall came an undertone of +stamping, and the sound of umbrellas banging on the floor. Errington +turned swiftly to Diana. + +"Will you trust me with the accompaniments?" he said, his blue eyes +fixed on hers. + +"You?" she faltered. + +"Yes. I swear I won't fail you." His voice dropped to a lower note, +but his dominating eyes still held her. "See, you offered me your +friendship. Trust me now. Let me 'stand by,' as a friend should." + +There was an instant's pause, then suddenly Diana bent her head in +acquiescence. + +"Thank heaven! thank heaven!" exclaimed Baroni, wringing Max's hand. +"You haf saved the situation, Mr. Errington." + +A minute later Diana found herself mounting the platform steps, her +hand in Max's. His close, firm clasp steadied and reassured her. +Again she was aware of that curious sense of well-being, as of leaning +on some sure, unfailing strength, which the touch of his hand had +before inspired. + +As he led her on to the platform she met his eyes, full of a kind +good-comradeship and confidence. + +"All right?" he whispered cheerfully. + +A little comforting warmth crept about her heart. She was not alone, +facing all those hundreds of curious, critical eyes in the hall below; +there was a friend "standing by." + +She nodded to him reassuringly, suddenly conscious of complete +self-mastery. She no longer feared those ranks of upturned faces, row +upon row, receding into shadow at the further end of the hall, and she +bowed composedly in response to the applause that greeted her. Then +she heard Max strike the opening chord of the song, and a minute later +the big concert-hall was thrilling to the matchless beauty of her +voice, as it floated out on to the waiting stillness. + +The five songs of the group followed each other in quick succession, +the clapping that broke out between each of them only checking so that +the next one might be heard, but when the final number had been given, +and the last note had drifted tenderly away into silence, the vast +audience rose to its feet almost as one man, shouting and clapping and +waving in a tumultuous outburst of enthusiasm. + +Diana stood quite still, almost frightened by the uproar, until Max +touched her arm and escorted her off the platform. + +In the artistes' room every one crowded round her pouring out +congratulations. Baroni seized both her hands and kissed them; then he +kissed her cheek, the tears in his eyes. And all the time came the +thunder of applause from the auditorium, beating up in steady, rhythmic +waves of sound. + +"Go!--Go back, my child, and bow." Baroni impelled her gently towards +the door. "_Gran Dio_! What a success! . . . What a voice of heaven!" + +Rather nervously, Diana mounted the platform once more, stepping +forward a little shyly; her cheeks were flushed, and her wonderful eyes +shone like grey stars. A fillet of pale green leaves bound her +smoke-black hair, and the slender, girlish figure in its sea-green +gown, touched here and there with gold embroidery, reminded one of +spring, and the young green and gold of daffodils. + +Instantly the applause redoubled. People were surging forward towards +the platform, pressing round an unfortunate usher who was endeavouring +to hand up a sheaf of roses to the singer. Diana bowed, and bowed +again. Then she stooped and accepted the roses, and a fresh burst of +clapping ensued. A wreath of laurel, and a huge bunch of white +heather, for luck, followed the sheaf of roses, and finally, her arms +full of flowers, smiling, bowing still, she escaped from the platform. + +Back again in the artistes' room, she found that a number of her +friends in front had come round to offer their congratulations. Alan +Stair and Joan, Jerry, and Adrienne de Gervais were amongst them, and +Diana at once became the centre of a little excited throng, all +laughing and talking and shaking her by the hand. Every one seemed to +be speaking at once, and behind it all still rose and fell the +cannonade of shouts and clapping from the hall. + +Four times Diana returned to the platform to acknowledge the tremendous +ovation which her singing had called forth, and at length, since Baroni +forbade an encore until after her second group of songs, Madame de +Louvigny went on to give her solo. + +"They weel not want to hear me--after you, Mees Quentin," she said +laughingly. + +But the British public is always very faithful to its favourites, and +the audience, realising at last that the new singer was not going to +bestow an encore, promptly exerted itself to welcome the French pianist +in a befitting manner. + +When Diana reappeared for her second group of song's the excitement was +intense. Whilst she was singing a pin could have been heard to fall; +it almost seemed as though the huge concourse of people held its breath +so that not a single note of the wonderful voice should be missed, and +when she ceased there fell a silence--that brief silence, like a sigh +of ecstasy, which, is the greatest tribute that any artiste can receive. + +Then, with a crash like thunder, the applause broke out once more, and +presently, reappearing with the sheaf of roses in her hand, Diana sang +"The Haven of Memory" as an encore. + + + Let me remember, + When I am very lonely, + How once your love + But crowned and blessed roe only, + Long and long ago. + + +The plaintive rhythm died away and the clapping which succeeded it was +quieter, less boisterous, than hitherto. Some people were crying +openly, and many surreptitiously wiped away a tear or so in the +intervals of applauding. The audience was shaken by the tender, +sorrowful emotion of the song, its big, sentimental British heart +throbbing to the haunting quality of the most beautiful voice in Europe. + +Diana herself had tears in her eyes. She was experiencing for the +first time the passionate exultation born of the knowledge that she +could sway the hearts of a multitude by the sheer beauty of her +singing--an abiding recompense bestowed for all the sacrifices which +art demands from those who learn her secrets. + +Her fingers, gripping with unconscious intensity the flowers she held, +detached a white rose from the sheaf, and it had barely time to reach +the floor before a young man from the audience, eager-eyed, his face +pale with excitement, sprang forward and snatched it up from beneath +her feet. + +In an instant there was an uproar. Men and women lost their heads and +clambered up on to the platform, pressing round the singer, besieging +her for a spray of leaves or a flower from the sheaf she carried. Some +even tried to secure a bit of the gold embroidery from off her gown by +way of memento. + +"Oh, please . . . please . . ." + +A crowd that is overwrought, either by anger or enthusiasm, is a +difficult thing to handle, and Diana retreated desperately, frightened +by the storm she had evoked. One man was kneeling beside her, +rapturously kissing the hem of her gown, and the eager, excited faces, +the outstretched hands, the vision of the surging throng below, and the +tumult and clamour that filled the concert-hall terrified her. + +Suddenly a strong arm intervened between her and the group of +enthusiasts who were flocking round her, and she found that she was +being quietly drawn aside into safety. Max Errington's tall form had +interposed itself between her and her too eager worshippers. With a +little gasp of relief she let him lead her down the steps of the +platform and back into the comparative calm of the artistes' room, +while two of the ushers hurried forward and dispersed the +memento-seekers, shepherding them back into the hall below, so that the +concert might continue. + +The latter part of the programme was heard with attention, but not even +the final _duo_ for violin and piano, exquisite though it was, +succeeded in rousing the audience to a normal pitch of fervour again. +Emotion and enthusiasm were alike exhausted, and now that Diana's share +in the recital was over, the big assemblage of people listened to the +remaining numbers much as a child, tired with play, may listen to a +lullaby--placidly appreciative, but without overwhelming excitement. + +"Well, what did I tell you?" demanded Jerry, triumphantly, of the +little party of friends who gathered together for tea in Diana's +sitting-room, when at length the great event of the afternoon was over. +"What did I tell you? . . . I said Diana would just romp past the +post--all the others nowhere. And behold! It came to pass." + +"It's a good thing Madame Louvigny and Kirolski can't hear you," +observed Joan sagely. "They've probably got quite nice natures, but +you'd strain the forbearance of an early Christian martyr, Jerry. +Besides, you needn't be so fulsome to Diana; it isn't good for her." + +Jerry retorted with spirit, and the two drifted into a pleasant little +wrangle--the kind of sparring match by which youths and maidens +frequently endeavour to convince themselves, and the world at large, of +the purely Platonic nature of their sentiments. + +Bunty, who had rejoiced in her promised seat in the front row at the +concert, was hurrying to and fro, a maid-servant in attendance, +bringing in tea, while Mrs. Lawrence, who had also been the recipient +of a complimentary ticket, looked in for a few minutes to felicitate +the heroine of the day. + +She mentally patted herself on the back for the discernment she had +evinced in making certain relaxations of her stringent rules in favour +of this particular boarder. It was quite evident that before long Miss +Quentin would be distinctly a "personage," shedding a delectable +effulgence upon her immediate surroundings, and Mrs. Lawrence was +firmly decided that, if any effort of hers could compass it, those +surroundings should continue to be No. 34 Brutton Square. + +Diana herself looked tired but irrepressibly happy. Now that it was +all over, and success assured, she realised how intensely she had +dreaded the ordeal of this first recital. + +Olga Lermontof, her injured hand resting in a sling, chaffed her with +some amusement. + +"I suppose, at last, you're beginning to understand that your voice is +really something out of the ordinary," she said. "Its effect on the +audience this afternoon is a better criterion than all the notices in +to-morrow's newspapers put together." + +Diana laughed. + +"Well, I hope it won't make a habit of producing that effect!" she +said, pulling a little face of disgust at the recollection. "I don't +know what would have happened if Mr. Errington hadn't come to my +rescue." + +Max smiled across at her. + +"You'd have been torn to bits and the pieces distributed amongst the +audience--like souvenir programmes--I imagine," he replied. Then, +turning towards the accompanist, he continued: "How does your hand feel +now, Miss Lermontof?" + +There was a curious change in his voice as he addressed the Russian, +and Diana, glancing quickly towards her, surprised a strangely wistful +look in her eyes as they rested upon Errington's face. + +"Oh, it is much better. I shall be able to play again in a few days. +But it was fortunate you were at the concert to-day, and able to take +my place." + +"So you approve of me--for once?" he queried, with a rather twisted +little smile. + +Olga remained silent for a moment, her eyes searching his face. Then +she said very deliberately:-- + +"I am glad you were able to play for Miss Quentin." + +"But you won't commit yourself so far as to say that I have your +approval--even once?" + +Miss Lermontof leaned forward impetuously. + +"How can I?" she said, in hurried tones, "It's all wrong--oh! you know +that it's all wrong." + +Errington shrugged his shoulders. + +"I'm afraid we can never see eye to eye," he answered. "Let us, then, +be philosophical over the matter and agree to differ." + +Olga's green eyes flamed with sudden anger, but she abstained from +making any reply, turning away from him abruptly. + +Diana, whose attention had been claimed by the Rector, had not caught +the quickly spoken sentences which had passed between the two, but she +was puzzled over the oddly yearning look she had surprised in Olga's +eyes. There had been a tenderness, a species of wistful longing in her +gaze, as she had turned towards Max Errington, which tallied ill with +the bitter incisiveness of the remarks she let fall at times concerning +him. + +"Well, my dear"--the Rector's voice recalled Diana's wandering +thoughts--"Joan and I must be getting back to our hotel, if we are to +be dressed in time for the dinner Miss de Gervais is giving in your +honour to-night." + +Diana glanced at the clock and nodded. + +"Indeed you must, Pobs darling. And I will send away these other good +people too. As we're all going to meet again at dinner we can bear to +be separated for an hour or so--even Jerry and Joan, I suppose?" she +added whimsically, in a lower tone. + +"It's invidious to mention names," murmured Stair, "or I might--" + +Diana laid her hand lightly across his mouth. + +"No, you mightn't," she said firmly. "Put on your coat and that nice +squashy hat of yours, and trot back to your hotel like a good Pobs." + +Stair laughed, looking down at her with kind eyes. + +"Very well, little autocrat." He put his hand under her chin and +tilted her face up. "I've not congratulated you yet, my dear. It's a +big thing you've done--captured London in a day. But it's a bigger +thing you'll have to do." + +"You mean Paris--Vienna?" + +He shook his head, still with the kind smile in his eyes. + +"No. I mean, keep me the little Diana I love--don't let me lose her in +the public singer." + +"Oh, Pobs!"--reproachfully. "As though I should ever change!" + +"Not deliberately--not willingly, I'm sure. But--success is a +difficult sea to swim." + +He sighed, kissed her upturned face, and then, with twist of his +shoulders, pulled on his overcoat and prepared to depart. + +Success is exhilarating. It goes to the head like wine, and yet, as +Diana lay in bed that night, staring with wide eyes into the darkness, +the memory that stood out in vivid relief from amongst the crowded +events of the day was not the triumph of the afternoon, nor the merry +evening which succeeded it, when "the coming _prima donna_" had been +toasted amid a fusillade of brilliant little speeches and light-hearted +laughter, but the remembrance of a pair of passionate, demanding blue +eyes and of a low, tense voice saying:-- + +"I swear I won't fail you. Let me 'stand by.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE FLAME OF LOVE + +Diana's gaze wandered idly over the blue stretch of water, as it lay +beneath the blazing August sun, while the sea-gulls, like streaks of +white light, wheeled through the shimmering haze of the atmosphere. +Her hands were loosely clasped around her knees, and a little +evanescent smile played about her lips. Behind her, the great red +cliffs of Culver Point reared up against the sapphire of the sky, and +she was thinking dreamily of that day, nearly eighteen months ago, when +she had been sitting in the self-same place, leaning against the +self-same rock, whilst a grey waste of water crept hungrily up to her +very feet, threatening to claim her as its prey. And then Errington +had come, and straightway all the danger was passed. + +Looking back, it seemed as though that had always been the way of +things. Some menace had arisen, either by land or sea--or even, as at +her recital, out of the very intensity of feeling which her singing had +inspired--and immediately Max had intervened and the danger had been +averted. + +She laid her hand caressingly on the sun-warmed surface of the rock. +How many things had happened since she had last leaned against its +uncomfortable excrescences! She felt quite affectionately towards it, +as one who has journeyed far may feel towards some old landmark of his +youth which he finds unaltered on his return, from wandering in strange +lands. The immutability of _things_, as compared with the constant +fluctuation of life and circumstance, struck her poignantly. Here was +this rock--cast up from the bowels of the earth thousands of years ago +and washed by the waves of a million tides--still unchanged and +changeless, while, for her, the face of the whole world had altered in +little more than a year! + +From a young girl-student, one insignificant person among scores of +others similarly insignificant, she had become a prominent personality, +some one in whom even the great, busy, hurrying world paused to take an +interest, and of whom the newspapers wrote eulogistic notices, +heralding her as the coming English _prima donna_. She felt rather +like a mole which has been working quietly in the dark, tunnelling a +passage for itself, unseen and unsuspected, and which has suddenly +emerged above the surface of the earth, much to its own--and every one +else's--astonishment! + +Then, too, how utterly changed were her relations with Max Errington! +At the beginning of their acquaintance he had held himself deliberately +aloof, but since that evening at Adrienne de Gervais' house, when they +had formed a compact of friendship, he had, apparently, completely +blotted out from his mind the remembrance of the obstacle, whatever it +might be, which he had contended must render any friendship between +them out of the question. + +And during these last few months Diana had gradually come to know the +lofty strain of idealism which ran through the man's whole nature. +Passionate, obstinate, unyielding--he could be each and all in turn, +but, side by side with these exterior characteristics, there ran a +streak of almost feminine delicacy of perception and ideality of +purpose. Diana had once told him, laughingly, that he was of the stuff +of which martyrs were made in the old days of persecution, and in this +she had haphazard lit upon the fundamental force that shaped his +actions. The burden which fate, or his own deeds, might lay upon his +shoulders, that he would bear, be it what it might. + +"Everything's got to be paid for," he had said one day. "It's +inevitable. So what's the use of jibing at the price?" + +Diana wondered whether the price of that mysterious something which lay +in his past, and which not even intimate friendship had revealed to +her, would mean that this comradeship must always remain only that--and +never anything more? + +A warm flush mounted to her face as the unbidden thought crept into her +mind. Errington had been down at Crailing most of the summer, staying +at Red Gables, and during the long, lazy days they had spent together, +motoring, or sailing, or tramping over Dartmoor with the keen moorland +air, like sparkling wine, in their nostrils, it seemed as though a +deeper note had sounded than merely that of friendship. + +And yet he had said nothing, although his eyes had spoken--those vivid +blue eyes which sometimes blazed with a white heat of smouldering +passion that set her heart racing madly within her. + +She flinched shyly away from her own thoughts, pulling restlessly at +the dried weed which clung about the surface of the rock. A little +brown crab ran out from a crevice, and, terrified by the big human hand +which he espied meddling with the clump of weed and threatening to +interfere with the liberty of the subject, skedaddled sideways into the +safety of another cranny. + +The hurried rush of the little live thing roused Diana from her +day-dreams, and looking up, she saw Max coming to her across the sands. + +She watched the proud, free gait of the tall figure with appreciation +in her eyes. There was something very individual and characteristic +about Max's walk--a suggestion as of immense vitality held in check, +together with a certain air of haughty resolution and command. + +"I thought I might find you here," he said, when they had shaken hands. + +"Did you want me?" + +He looked at her with a curious expression in his eyes. + +"I always want you, I think," he said simply. + +"Well, you seem to have a faculty for always turning up when _I_ want +_you_," she replied. "I was just thinking how often you had appeared +in the very nick of time. Seriously"--her voice took on a graver +note--"I feel I can't ever repay you.--you've come to my help so often." + +"There is a way," he said, very low, and then fell silent. + +"Tell me," she urged him, smilingly. "I like to pay my debts." + +He made no answer, and Diana, suddenly nervous and puzzled, continued a +little breathlessly:-- + +"Have I--have I offended you? I--I thought"--her lips quivered--"we +had agreed to be friends." + +Max was silent a moment. Then he said slowly:-- + +"I can't keep that compact." + +Diana's heart contracted with a sudden fear. + +"Can't keep it?" she repeated dully. She could not picture her +life--no--robbed of this friendship! + +"No." His hands hung clenched at his sides, and he stood staring at +her from beneath bent brows, his mouth set in a straight line. It was +as though he were holding himself under a rigid restraint, against +which something within him battled, striving for release. + +All at once his control snapped. + +"I love you! . . . God in heaven! Haven't you guessed it?" + +The words broke from him like a bitter cry--the cry of a heart torn in +twain by love and thwarted longing. Diana felt the urgency of its +demand thrill through her whole being. + +"Max . . ." + +It was the merest whisper, reaching his ears like the touch of a +butterfly's wing--hesitantly shy, and honey-sweet with the promise of +summer. + +The next instant his arms were round her and he was holding her as +though he would never let her go, passionately kissing the soft mouth, +so close beneath his own. He lifted her off her feet, crushing her to +him, and Diana, the woman in her definitely, vividly aroused at last, +clung to him yielding, but half-terrified by the tempest of emotion she +had waked. + +"My beloved! . . . _My soul_!" + +His voice was vehement with the love and passion at length unleashed +from bondage; his kisses hurt her. There was something torrential, +overwhelming, in his imperious wooing. He held her with the fierce, +possessive grip of primitive man claiming the chosen woman as his mate. + +She struggled faintly against him. + +"Ah! Max--Max . . . . Let me go. You're frightening me." + +She heard him draw his breath hard, and then slowly, reluctantly, as +though by a sheer effort of will, he set her down. He was white to the +lips, and his eyes glowed like blue flame in their pallid setting. + +"Frighten you!" he repeated hoarsely. "You don't know what love +means--you English." + +Diana stared at him. + +"'You English!' What--what are you saying? Max, aren't you English +after all?" + +He threw back his head with a laugh. + +"Oh, yes, I'm English. But I'm something else as well. . . . There's +warmer blood in my veins, and I can't love like an Englishman. Oh, +Diana, heart's beloved, let me teach you what love is!" + +Impetuously he caught her in his arms again, and once more she felt the +storm of his passion sweep over her as he rained fierce kisses on eyes +and throat and lips. For a space it seemed as if the whole world were +blotted out and there were only they two alone together--shaken to the +very foundations of their being by the tremendous force of the +whirlwind of love which had engulfed them. + +When at length he released her, all her reserves were down. + +"Max . . . Max . . . I love you!" + +The confession fell from her lips with a timid, exquisite abandon. He +was her mate and she recognised it. He had conquered her. + + +Presently he put her from him, very gently, but decisively. + +"Diana, heart's dearest, there is something more--something I have not +told you yet." + +She looked at him with sudden apprehension in her eyes. + +"Max! . . . Nothing--nothing that need come between us?" + +Memories of the past, of all the incomprehensible episodes of their +acquaintance--his refusal to recognise her, his reluctance to accept +her friendship--came crowding in upon her, threatening the destruction +of her new-found happiness. + +"Not if you can be strong--not if you'll trust me." He looked at her +searchingly. + +"Trust you? But I do trust you. Should I have . . . Oh, Max!" the +warm colour dyed her face from chin to brow--"Could I love you if I +didn't trust you?" + +There was a tender, almost compassionate expression in his eyes as he +answered, rather sadly:-- + +"Ah, my dear, we don't know what 'trust' really means until we are +called upon to give it. . . . And I want so much from you!" + +Diana slipped her hand confidently into his. + +"Tell me," she said, smiling at him. "I don't think I shall fail you." + +He was silent for a while, wondering if the next words he spoke would +set them as far apart as though the previous hour had never been. At +last he spoke. + +"Do you believe that husbands and wives should have no secrets from one +another?" he asked abruptly. + +Diana had never really given the matter consideration--never formulated +such a question in her mind. But now, in the light of love's +awakening; she instinctively knew the answer to it. Her opinion leaped +into life fully formed; she was aware, without the shadow of a doubt, +of her own feelings on the subject. + +"Certainly they shouldn't," she answered promptly. "Why, Max, that +would be breaking the very link that binds them together--their +_oneness_ each with the other. You think that, too, don't you? +Why--why did you ask me?" A premonition of evil assailed her, and her +voice trembled a little. + +"I asked you because--because if you marry me you will have to face the +fact that there is a secret in my life which I cannot share with +you--something I can't tell you about." Then, as he saw the blank look +on her face, he went on rapidly: "It will be the only thing, beloved. +There shall be nothing else in life that will not be 'ours,' between +us, shared by us both. I swear it! . . . Diana, I must make you +understand. It was because of this--this secret--that I kept away from +you. You couldn't understand--oh! I saw it in your face sometimes. +You were hurt by what I did and said, and it tortured me to hurt +you--to see your lip quiver, your eyes suddenly grow misty, and to know +it was I who had wounded you, I, who would give the last drop of blood +in my body to save you pain." + +There was a curious stricken expression on the face Diana turned +towards him. + +"So that was it!" + +"Yes, that was it. I tried to put you out of my life, for I'd no right +to ask you into it. And I've failed! I can't do without you"--his +voice gathered intensity--"I want you--body and soul I want you. And +yet--a secret between husband and wife is a burden no man should ask a +woman to bear." + +When next Diana spoke it was in a curiously cold, collected voice. She +felt stunned. A great wall seemed to be rising up betwixt herself and +Max; all her golden visions for the future were falling about her in +ruins. + +"You are right," she said slowly. "No man should ask--that--of his +wife." + +Errington's face twisted with pain. + +"I never meant to let you know I cared," he answered. "I fought down +my love for you just because of that. And then--it grew too strong for +me. . . . My God! If you knew what it's been like--to be near you, +with you, constantly, and yet to feel that you were as far removed from +me as the sun itself. Diana--beloved--can't you trust me over this one +thing? Isn't your love strong enough for that?" + +She turned on him passionately. + +"Oh, you are unfair to me--cruelly unfair! You ask me to trust you! +And your very asking implies that you cannot trust _me_!" + +There was bitter anger in her voice. + +"I know it looks like that," he said wearily. "And I can't explain. I +can only ask you to believe in me and trust me. I thought . . . +perhaps . . . you loved me enough to do it." His mouth twitched with a +little smile, half sad, half ironical. "My usual presumption, I +suppose." + +She made no answer, but after a moment asked abruptly:-- + +"Does this--this secret concern only you?" + +"That I cannot tell you. I can't answer any questions. If--if you +come to me, it must be in absolute blind trust." He paused, his eyes +entreating her. "Is it . . . too much to ask?" + +Diana was silent, looking away from him across the water. The sun +slipped behind a cloud, and a grey shadow spread like a blight over the +summer sea. It lay leaden and dull, tufted with little white crests of +foam. + +The man and woman stood side by side, motionless, unresponsive. It was +as though a sword had suddenly descended, cleaving them asunder. + +Presently she heard him mutter in a low tone of anguish:-- + +"So this--this, too--must be added to the price!" + +The pain in his voice pulled at her heart. She stretched out her hands +towards him. + +"Max! Give me time!" + +He wheeled round, and the tense look of misery in his face hurt her +almost physically. + +"What do you mean?" he asked hoarsely. + +"I must have time to think. Husband and wife ought to be one. +What--what happiness can there be if . . . if we marry . . . like this?" + +He bent his head. + +"None--unless you can have faith. There can be no happiness for us +without that." + +He took a sudden step towards her. + +"Oh, my dear, my dear! I love you so!" + +Diana began to cry softly--helpless, pathetic, weeping, like a child's. + +"And--and I thought we were so happy," she sobbed. "Now it's all +spoiled and broken. And you've spoilt it!" + +"Don't!" he said unsteadily. "Don't cry like that. I can't stand it." + +He made an instinctive movement to take her in his arms, but she +slipped aside, turning on him in sudden, passionate reproach. + +"Why did you try and make me love you when you knew . . . all this? I +was quite happy before you came--oh, so happy!"--with a sudden yearning +recollection of the days of unawakened girlhood. "If--if you had let +me alone, I should have been happy still." + +The unthinking selfishness of youth rang in her voice, asserting its +infinite demand for the joy and pleasure of life. + +"And I?" he said, very low. "Does my unhappiness count for nothing? +I'm paying too. God knows, I wish we had never met." + +Never to have met! Not to have known all that those months of +friendship and a single hour of love had held! The words brought a +sudden awakening to Diana--a new, wonderful knowledge that, cost what +they might in bitterness and future pain, she would rather bear the +cost than know her life emptied of those memories. + +She had ceased crying. After a few moments she spoke with a gentle, +wistful composure. + +"I was wrong, Max. You're not to blame--you couldn't help it any more +than I could." + +"I might have gone away--kept away from you," he said tonelessly. + +A faint, wintry little smile curved her lips. + +"I'm glad you didn't." + +"Diana!" He sprang forward impetuously. "Do you mean that?" + +She nodded slowly. + +"Yes. Even if--if we can't ever marry, we've had . . . to-day." + +A smouldering fire lit itself in the man's blue eyes. He had spoken +but the bare truth when he had said that warmer blood ran in his veins +than that of the cold northern peoples. + +"Yes," he said, his voice tense. "We've had to-day." + +Diana trembled a little. The memory of that fierce, wild love-making +of his rushed over her once more, and the primitive woman in her longed +to yield to its mastery. But the cooler characteristics of her nature +bade her pause and weigh the full significance of marrying a man whose +life was tinged with mystery, and who frankly acknowledged that he bore +a secret which must remain hidden, even from his wife. + +It would be taking a leap in the dark, and Diana shrank from it. + +"I must have time to think," she repeated. "I can't decide to-day." + +"No," he said, "you're right. I've known that all the time, +only--only"--his voice shook--"the touch of you, the nearness of you, +blinded me." He paused. "Don't keep me waiting for your answer longer +than you can help, Diana," he added, with a quiet intensity. + +"You'll go away from Crailing?" she asked nervously. + +He smiled a little sadly. + +"Yes, I'll go away. I'll leave you quite free to make your decision," +he replied. + +She breathed a sigh of relief. She knew that if he were to remain at +Crailing, if they were to continue seeing each other almost daily, +there could be but one end to the matter--her conviction that no +happiness could result from such a marriage would go by the board. It +could not stand against the breathless impetuosity of Max's +love-making--not when her own heart was eager and aching to respond. + +"Thank you, Max," she said simply, extending her hand. + +He put it aside, drawing her into his embrace. + +"Beloved," he said, and now there was no passion, no fierceness of +desire in his voice, only unutterable tenderness. "Beloved, please God +you will find it in your heart to be good to me. All my thoughts are +yours, but for that one thing over which I need your faith. . . . I +think no man ever loved a woman so utterly as I love you. And oh! +little white English rose of my heart, I'd never ask more than you +could give. Love isn't all passion. It's tenderness and shielding and +service, dear, as well as fire and flame. A man loves his wife in all +the little ways of daily life as well as in the big ways of eternity." + +He stooped his head, and a shaft of sunlight flickered across his +bright hair. Diana watched it with a curious sense of detachment. +Very gently he laid her hands against his lips, and the next moment he +was swinging away from her across the stretch of yellow sand, leaving +her alone once more with the sea and the sky and the wheeling gulls. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +DIANA'S DECISION + +Max had been gone a week--a week of distress and miserable indecision +for Diana, racked as she was between her love and her conviction that +marriage under the only circumstances possible would inevitably bring +unhappiness. Over and above this fear there was the instinctive recoil +she felt from Errington's demand for such blind faith. Her pride +rebelled against it. If he loved her and had confidence in her, why +couldn't he trust her with his secret? It was treating her like a +child, and it would be wrong--all wrong--she argued, to begin their +married life with concealment and secrecy for its foundation. + +One morning she even wrote to him, telling him definitely either that +he must trust her altogether, or that they must part irrevocably. But +the letter was torn up the same afternoon, and Diana went to bed that +night with her decision still untaken. + +For several nights she had slept but little, and once again she passed +long hours tossing feverishly from side to side of the bed or pacing up +and down her room, love and pride fighting a stubborn battle within +her. Had Max remained at Crailing, love would have gained an easy +victory, but, true to his promise, he had gone away, leaving her to +make her decision free and untrammelled by his influence. + +Diana's face was beginning to show signs of the mental struggle through +which she was passing. Dark shadows lay beneath her eyes, and her +cheeks, even in so short a time, had hollowed a little. She was +irritable, too, and unlike herself, and at last Stair, whose watchful +eyes had noted all these things, though he had refrained from comment, +taxed her with keeping him outside her confidence. + +"Can't I help, Di?" he asked, laying his hand on her shoulder, and +twisting her round so that she faced him. + +The quick colour flew into her cheeks. For a moment she hesitated, +while Stair, releasing his hold of her, dropped into a chair and busied +himself filling and lighting his pipe. + +"Well?" he queried at last, smiling whimsically. "Won't you give me an +old friend's right to ask impertinent questions?" + +Impulsively she yielded. + +"You needn't, Pobs. I'll tell you all about it." + +When she had finished, a long silence ensued. Not that Stair was in +any doubt as to what form his advice should take--idealist that he was, +there did not seem to him to be any question in the matter. He only +hesitated as to how he could best word his counsel. + +At last he spoke, very gently, his eyes lit with that inner radiance +which gave such an arresting charm of expression to his face. + +"My dear," he said, "it seems to me that if you love him you needs +_must_ trust him. 'Perfect love casteth out fear.'" + +Diana shook her head. + +"Mightn't you reverse that, Pobs, and say that he would trust _me_--if +he loves me?" + +"No, not necessarily." Alan sucked at his pipe. "He knows what his +secret is, and whether it is right or wrong for you to share it. You +haven't that knowledge. And that's where your trust must come in. You +have to believe in him enough to leave it to him to decide whether you +ought to be told or not. Have you no confidence in his judgment?" + +"I don't think husbands and wives should have secrets from one +another," protested Diana obstinately. + +"Does he propose to have any other than this one?" + +"No." + +"Then I don't see that you need complain. The present and the future +are yours, but you've no right to demand the past as well. And this +secret, whatever it may be, belongs to the past." + +"As far as I can see it will be cropping up in the future as well," +said Diana ruefully. "It seems to be a 'continued in our next' kind of +mystery." + +Stair laughed boyishly. + +"It should add a zest to life if that's the case," he retorted. + +Diana was silent a moment. Then she said suddenly:-- + +"Pobs, what am I to do?" + +Instantly Stair became grave again. + +"My dear, do you love him?" + +Diana nodded, her eyes replying. + +"Then nothing else matters a straw. If you love him enough to trust +him with the whole of the rest of your life, you can surely trust him +over a twopenny-halfpenny little secret which, after all, has nothing +in the world to do with you. If you can't, do you know what it looks +like?" + +She regarded him questioningly. + +"It looks as though you suspected the secret of being a disgraceful +one--something of which Max is ashamed to tell you. Do +you"--sharply--"think that?" + +"Of course I don't!" she burst out indignantly. + +"Then why trouble? Possibly the matter concerns some one else besides +himself, and he may not be at liberty to tell you anything--he might +have a dozen different reasons for keeping his own counsel. And the +woman who loves him and is ready to be his wife is the first to doubt +and, distrust him! Diana, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. If my +wife"--his voice shook a little---"had ever doubted me--no matter how +black things might have looked against me--I think it would have broken +my heart." + +Diana's head drooped lower and lower as he spoke, and presently her +hand stole out, seeking his. In a moment it was taken and held in a +close and kindly clasp. + +"I'll--I'll marry him, Pobs," she whispered. + +So it came about that when, two days later, Max took his way to 24 +Brutton Square, the gods had better gifts in store for him than he had +dared to hope. + +He was pacing restlessly up and down her little sitting-room when she +entered it, and she could see that his face bore traces of the last few +days' anxiety. There were new lines about his mouth, and his eyes were +so darkly shadowed as to seem almost sunken in their sockets. + +"You have come back!" he said, stepping eagerly towards her. +"Diana"--there was a note of strain in his voice--"which is it? +Yes--or no?" + +She held out her hands. + +"It's--it's 'yes,' Max." + +A stifled exclamation broke from him, almost like a sob. He folded her +in his arms and laid his lips to hers. + +"My beloved! . . . Oh, Diana, if you could guess the agony--the +torture of the last ten days!" And he leaned his cheek against her +hair, and stood silently for a little space. + +Presently fear overcame him again--quick fear lest she should ever +regret having given herself to him. + +"Heart's dearest, have you realised that it will be very hard +sometimes? You will ask me to explain things--and I shan't be able to. +Is your trust big enough--great enough for this?" + +Diana raised her head from his shoulder. + +"I love you," she answered steadily. + +"Do you forget the shadow? It is there still, dogging my steps. Not +even your love can alter that." + +For a moment Diana rose to the heights of her womanhood. + +"If there must be a shadow," she said, "we will walk in it together." + +"But--don't you see?--I shall know what it is. To you it will always +be something unknown, hidden, mysterious. Child! Child! I wonder if +I am right to let you join your life to mine!" + +But Diana only repeated:-- + +"I love you." + +And at last he flung all thoughts of warning and doubt aside, and +secure in that reiterated "I love you!" yielded to the unutterable joy +of the moment. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +BARONI'S OPINION OF MATRIMONY + +"_Per Dio_! What is this you tell me? That you are to be +married? . . . My dear Mees Quentin, please put all such thoughts of +foolishness out of your mind. You are consecrated to art. The young +man must find another bride." + +It was thus that Carlo Baroni received the news of Diana's +engagement--at first with unmitigated horror, then sweeping it aside as +though it were a matter of no consequence whatever. + +Diana laughed, dimpling with amusement at the _maestro's_ indignation. +Now that she had given her faith, refusing to allow anything to stand +between her and Max, she was so supremely happy that she felt she could +afford to laugh at such relatively small obstacles as would be raised +by her old singing-master. + +"I'm afraid the 'young man' wouldn't agree to that," she returned +gaily. "He would say you must find another pupil." + +Baroni surveyed her with anxiety. + +"You are not serious?" he queried at last. + +"Indeed I am. I'm actually engaged--now, at this moment--and we +propose to get married before Christmas." + +"But it is impossible! _Giusto Cielo_! But impossible!" reiterated +the old man. "Mees Quentin, you cannot haf understood. Perhaps, in my +anxiety that you should strain every nerve to improve, I haf not +praised you enough--and so you haf not understood. Leesten, then. You +haf a voice than which there is not one so good in the whole of Europe. +It is superb--marvellous--the voice of the century. With that voice +you will haf the whole world at your feet; before long you will command +almost fabulous fees, and more, far more than this, you can interpret +the music of the great masters as they themselves would wish to hear +it. Me, Baroni, I know it. And you would fling such possibilities, +such a career, aside for mere matrimony! It is nonsense, I tell you, +sheer nonsense!" + +He paused for breath, and Diana laid her hand deprecatingly on his arm. + +"Dear _Maestro_," she said, "it's good of you to tell me all this, +and--and you mustn't think for one moment that I ever forget all you've +done for me. It's you who've made my voice what it is. But there +isn't the least reason why I should give up singing because I'm going +to be married. I don't intend to, I assure you." + +"I haf no doubt you mean well. But I haf heard other young singers say +the same thing, and then the husband--the so English husband!--he +objects to his wife's appearing in public, and _presto_! . . . Away +goes the career! No singer should marry until she is well established +in her profession. You are young. Marry in ten years' time and you +shall haf my blessing." + +"I shall want your blessing sooner than that," laughed Diana. "But I'm +not marrying a 'so English husband'! He's only partly English, and +he's quite willing for me to go on singing." + +Baroni regarded her seriously. + +"Is that so? Good! Then I will talk to the young man, so that he may +realise that he is not marrying just Mees Diana Quentin, but a voice--a +heaven-bestowed voice. What is his name?" + +"You know him," she answered smilingly. "It's Max Errington." + +She was utterly unprepared for the effect of her words. Baroni's face +darkened like a stormy sky, and his eyes literally blazed at her from +beneath their penthouse of shaggy brow. + +"Max Errington! _Donnerwetter_! But that is the worst of all!" + +Diana stared, at him in mute amazement, and, despite herself, her heart +sank with a sudden desperate apprehension. What did it mean? Why +should the mere mention of Max's name have roused the old _maestro_ to +such a fever of indignation? + +Presently Baroni turned to her again, speaking more composedly, +although little sparks of anger still flickered in his eyes ready to +leap into flame at the slightest provocation. + +"I haf met Mr. Errington. He is a charming man. But if you marry him, +my dear Mees Quentin--good-bye to your career as a world-artiste, +good-bye to the most marvellous voice that the good God has ever let me +hear." + +"I don't see why. Max thoroughly understands professional life." + +"Nevertheless, believe me, there will--there _must_ come a time when +Max Errington's wife will not be able to appear before the world as a +public singer. I who speak, I know." + +Diana flashed round upon him suddenly. + +"_You_--you know his secret?" + +"I know it." + +So, then, the secret which must be hidden from his wife was yet known +to Carlo Baroni! Diana felt her former resentment surge up anew within +her. It was unfair--shamefully unfair for Max to treat her in this +way! It was making a mockery of their love. + +Baroni's keen old eyes read the conflict of emotions in her face, and +he laid his finger unerringly upon the sore spot. His one idea was to +prevent Diana from marrying, to guard her--as he mentally phrased +it--for the art he loved so well, and he was prepared to stick at +nothing that might aid his cause. + +"So he has not told you?" he said slowly. "Do you not think it strange +of him?" + +Diana's breast rose and fell tumultuously. Baroni was turning the +knife in the wound with a vengeance. + +"_Maestro_, tell me,"--her voice came unevenly--"tell me. Is it"--she +turned her head away--"is it a . . . shameful . . . secret?" + +Inwardly she loathed herself for asking such a thing, but the words +seemed dragged from her without her own volition. + +Baroni hesitated. All his hopes and ambitions centred round Diana and +her marvellous voice. He had given of his best to train it to its +present perfection, and now he saw the fruit of his labour about to be +snatched from him. It was more than human nature could endure. +Errington meant nothing to him, Diana and her voice everything; and he +was prepared to sacrifice no matter whom to secure her career as an +artiste. By implication he sacrificed Errington. + +"It is not possible for me to say more. But be advised, my dear pupil. +Out of my great love for you I say it--_let Max Errington go his way_." + +And with those words--sinister, warning--ringing in her ears, Diana +returned to Brutton Square. + +But Baroni was not content to let matters remain as they stood, +trusting that his warning would do its work. He was determined to +leave no stone unturned, and he forthwith sought out Errington in his +own house and deliberately broached the subject of his engagement to +Diana. + +Max greeted him affectionately. + +"It's a long while since you honoured me with a visit," he said, +shaking hands. "I suppose"--laughingly--"you come to congratulate me?" + +The old man shook his head. + +"Far from it. I haf come to ask you to give her up." + +"To give her up?" repeated Max, in undisguised amazement. + +"Yes. Mees Quentin is not for marriage. She is dedicated to Art." + +Max smiled indulgently. + +"To Art? Yes. But she's for me, too, thank God! Dear old friend, you +need not look so anxious and concerned. I've no wish to interfere with +Diana's professional work. You shall have her voice"--smiling--"I'll +be content to hold her heart." + +But there was no answering smile on Baroni's lips. + +"_Does she know--everything_?" he asked sternly. + +Max shook his head. + +"No. How could she? . . . _You_ must realise the impossibility of +that," he answered slowly. + +"And you think it right to let her marry you in ignorance?" + +Max hesitated. Then-- + +"She trusts me," he said at last. + +"Pish! For how long? . . . When she sees daily under her eyes things +that she cannot explain, unaccountable things, how long will she remain +satisfied, I ask you? And then will begin unhappiness." + +Errington stiffened. + +"And what has our--supposititious--unhappiness to do with you, Signor +Baroni?" he asked haughtily. + +"_Your_ unhappiness? Nothing. It is the price you must pay--your +inheritance. But hers? Everything. Tears, fretting, vexation--and +that beautiful voice, that perfect organ, may be impaired. Think! +Think what you are doing! Just for your own personal happiness you are +risking the voice of the century, the voice that will give pleasure to +tens of thousands--to millions. You are committing a crime against +Art." + +Max smiled in spite of himself. + +"Truly, _Maestro_, I had not thought of it like that," he admitted. +"But I think her faith in me will carry us through," he added +confidently. + +"Never! Never! Women are not made like that." + +"And perhaps, later on, if things go well, I shall be able to tell her +all." + +"And much good that will do! _Diavolo_! When the time comes that +things go well--if it ever does come--" + +"It will. It shall," said Max firmly. + +"Well, if it does--I ask you, can she then continue her life as an +artiste?" + +Max reflected. + +"Yes, if I remain in England--which I hope to do. I counted on that +when I asked her to marry me. I think I shall be able to arrange it." + +"If! If! Are you going to hang your wife's happiness upon an 'if'?" +Baroni spoke with intense anger. "And 'if' you _cannot_ remain in +England, if you haf to go back--_there_? Can your wife still appear as +a public singer?" + +"No," acknowledged Max slowly. "I suppose not." + +"No! Her career will be ruined. And all this is the price she will +haf to pay for her--_trust_! Give it up, give it up--set her free." + +Max flung himself into a chair, leaning his arms wearily on the table, +and stared straight in front of him, his eyes dark with pain. + +"I can't," he said, in a low voice. "Not now. I meant to--I tried +to--but now she has promised and I can't let her go. Good God, +_Maestro_!"--a sudden ring of passion in his tones--"Must I give up +everything? Am I to have nothing in the world? Always to be a tool +and never live an individual man's life of my own?" + +Baroni's face softened a little. + +"One cannot escape one's destiny," he said sadly. "_Che sarà +sarà_. . . . But you can spare--her. Tell her the truth, and in +common fairness let her judge for herself--not rush blindfold into such +a web." + +Max shook his head. + +"You know I can't do that," he replied quietly. + +Baroni threw out his arms in despair. + +"I would tell her the whole truth myself--but for the memory of one who +is dead." Sudden tears dimmed the fierce old eyes. "For the sake of +that sainted martyr--martyr in life as well as in death--I will hold my +peace." + +A half-sad, half-humorous smile flashed across Errington's face. + +"We're all of us martyrs--more or less," he observed drily. + +"And you wish to add Mees Quentin to the list?" retorted Baroni. +"Well, I warn you, I shall fight against it. I will do everything in +my power to stop this marriage." + +Max shrugged his shoulders. + +"I'm sure you will," he said, smiling faintly. "But--forgive me, +_Maestro_--I don't think you will succeed." + +As soon as Baroni had taken his departure, Max called a taxi, and +hurried off to see Adrienne de Gervais. He had arranged to talk over +with her a certain scene in the play he was now writing for her, and +which was to be produced early in the New Year. + +Adrienne welcomed him good-humouredly. + +"A little late," she observed, glancing at the clock. "But I suppose +one must not expect punctuality when a man's in love." + +"I know I'm late, but I can assure you"--with a grim smile--"love had +little enough to do with it." + +Adrienne looked up sharply, struck by the bitter note in his voice. + +"Then what had?" she asked. "What has gone wrong, Max? You look +fagged out." + +"Baroni has been round to see me--to ask me to break off my +engagement." He laughed shortly. + +"He doesn't approve, I suppose?" + +"That's a mild way of expressing his attitude." + +Adrienne was silent a moment. Then she spoke, slowly, consideringly. + +"I don't--approve--either. It isn't right, Max." + +He bit his lip. + +"So you--you, too, are against me?" + +She stretched out her hand impulsively. + +"Not against you, Max! Never that! How could I be? . . . But I don't +think you're being quite fair to Diana. You ought to tell her the +truth." + +He wheeled round. + +"No one knows better than you how impossible that is." + +"Don't you trust her then--the woman you're asking to be your wife?" + +The tinge of irony in her voice brought a sudden light of anger to his +eyes. + +"That's not very just of you, Adrienne," he said coldly. "_I_ would +trust her with my life. But I have no right to pledge the trust of +others--and that's what I should be doing if I told her. We have our +duty--you and I--and all this . . . is part of it." + +Adrienne hesitated. + +"Couldn't you--ask the others to release you?" + +He shook his head. + +"What right have I to ask them to trust an Englishwoman with their +secret--just for my pleasure?" + +"For your happiness," corrected Adrienne softly. + +"Or for my happiness? My happiness doesn't count with them one straw." + +"It does with me. I don't see why she shouldn't be told. Baroni +knows, and Olga--you have to trust them." + +"Baroni will be silent for the sake of the dead, and Olga out of her +love--or fear"--with a bitter smile--"of me." + +"And wouldn't Diana, too, be silent for your sake?" + +"My dear Adrienne"--a little irritably--"Englishwomen are so frank--so +indiscreetly trusting. That's where the difficulty lies, and I dare +not risk it. There's too much at stake. But can you imagine any agent +they may have put upon our track surprising her knowledge out of Olga?" +He laughed contemptuously. "I fancy not! If Olga hadn't been a woman +she'd have made her mark in the Diplomatic Service." + +"Yet what is there to make her keep faith with us?" said Adrienne +doubtfully. "She is poor--" + +"Her own doing, that!" + +"True, but the fact remains. And those others would pay a fortune for +the information she could give. Besides, I believe she frankly hates +me." + +"Possibly. But she would never, I think, allow her personal feelings +to override everything else. After all, she was one of us--is still, +really, though she would gladly disown the connection." + +"Well, when you've looked at every side of the matter, we only come +back to the same point. I think you're acting wrongly. You're letting +Diana pledge herself blindly, when you're not free to give her the +confidence a man should give his wife--when you don't even +know--yet--how it may all end." + +Almost Baroni's very words! Max winced. + +"No. I don't know how it will end, as you say. But surely there +_will_ come a time when I shall be free to live my own life?" + +Adrienne smiled a trifle wistfully. + +"If your conscience ever lets you," she said. + +There was a long silence. Presently she resumed:--- + +"I never thought, when you first told me about your engagement, that +the position of affairs need make any difference. I was so pleased to +think that you cared for each other! And now--where will it all end? +How many lives are going to be darkened by the same shadow? Oh, it's +terrible, Max, terrible!" + +The tears filled her eyes. + +"Don't!" said Max unsteadily. "Don't! I know it's bad enough. +Perhaps you're right--I oughtn't to have spoken to Diana, I hoped +things would right themselves eventually, but you and Baroni have put +another complexion upon matters. It's all an inextricable tangle, +whichever way one looks at it--come good luck or bad! . . . I suppose +I was wrong--I ought to have waited. But now . . . now . . . Before +God, Adrienne! I can't, give her up--not now!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +"WHOM GOD HATH JOINED TOGETHER" + +Max and Diana were married shortly before the following Christmas. The +wedding took place very quietly at Crailing, only a few intimate friends +being asked to it. For, as Max pointed out, either their invitations +must be limited to a dozen or so, or else Diana must resign herself to a +fashionable wedding in town, with all the world and his wife as guests at +the subsequent reception. No middle course is possible when a well-known +dramatist elects to marry the latest sensation in the musical world! + +So it was in the tiny grey church overlooking the sea that Max and Diana +were made one, with the distant murmur of the waves in their ears, and +with Alan Stair to speak the solemn words that joined their lives +together, and when the little intimate luncheon which followed the +ceremony was over, they drove away in Max's car to the wild, beautiful +coast of Cornwall, there to spend the first perfect days of their married +life. + +And they were perfect days! Afterwards, when clouds had dimmed the +radiance of the sun, and doubts and ugly questionings were beating up on +every side, Diana had always that radiant fortnight by the Cornish +sea--she and Max alone together--to look back upon. + +The woman whose married life holds sorrow, and who has no such golden +memory stored away, is bereft indeed! + +On their return to London, the Erringtons established themselves at Lilac +Lodge, a charming old-fashioned house in Hampstead, where the +creeper-clad walls and great bushes of lilac reminded Diana pleasantly of +the old Rectory at Crailing. Jerry made one of the household--"resident +secretary" as he proudly termed himself, and his cheery, good-humoured +presence was invaluable whenever difficulties arose. + +But at first there were few, indeed, of the latter to contend with. +Owing to the illness of an important member of the cast, without whose +services Adrienne declined to perform, the production of Max's new play, +"Mrs. Fleming's Husband," was delayed until the autumn. This +postponement left him free to devote much more of his time to his wife +than would otherwise have been possible, and for the first few months +after their marriage it seemed as though no shadow could ever fall +athwart their happiness. + +In this respect Baroni's prognostications of evil had failed to +materialise, but his fears that marriage would interfere with Diana's +musical career were better founded. Quite easily and naturally she +slipped out of the professional life which had just been opening its +doors to her. She felt no inclination to continue singing in public. +Max filled her existence, and although she still persevered with her +musical training under Baroni, she told him with a frank enjoyment of the +situation that she was far too happy and enjoying herself far too much to +have any desire at present to take up the arduous work of a public singer! + +Baroni was immeasurably disappointed, and not all Diana's assurances that +in a year, or two at most, she would go back into harness once more +sufficed to cheer him. + +"A year--two years!" he exclaimed. "Two years lost at the critical +time--just at the commencement of your career! Ah, my dear Mrs. +Errington, you had better haf lost four years later on when you haf +established yourself." + +To Max himself the old _maestro_ was short and to the point when chance +gave him the opportunity of a few moments alone with him. + +"You haf stolen her from me, Max Errington--you haf broken your promise +that she should be free to sing." + +Max responded good-humouredly:-- + +"She _is_ free, _Maestro_, free to do exactly as she chooses. And she +has chosen--to be my wife, to live for a time the pleasant, peaceful life +that ordinary, everyday folk may live, who are not rushed hither and +thither at the call of a career. Can you honestly say she hasn't chosen +the better part?" + +Baroni was silent. + +"Don't grudge her a year or two of freedom," pursued Max. "You know, you +old slave-driver, you,"--laughing--"that it is only because you want her +for your beloved Art--because you want her voice! Otherwise you would +rejoice in her happiness." + +"And you--what is it you want?" retorted Baroni, unappeased. "You want +her soul! Whereas I would give her soul wings that she might send it +singing forth into an enraptured world." + +But Baroni's words fell upon stony ground, and Max and Diana went their +way, absorbed in one another and in the wonderful happiness which love +had brought them. + +Thus spring slipped away into summer, and the season was in full swing +when fate tossed the first pebble into their unruffled pool of joy. + +It was only a brief paragraph, sandwiched in between the musical notes of +a morning paper, to which Olga Lermontof, who came daily to Lilac Lodge +to practise with Diana, drew the latter's attention. The paragraph +recalled the fact that it was just a year since Miss Quentin had made her +debut, and then went on to comment lightly upon the brief and meteoric +character of her professional appearances. + + +"Domesticity should not have claimed Miss Quentin"--so ran the actual +words. "Hers was a voice the like of which we may not hear again, and +the public grudges its withdrawal. _A propos_, we had always thought +(until circumstances proved us hopelessly wrong) that the fortunate man, +whose gain has been such a loss to the musical world, seemed born to +write plays for a certain charming actress--and she to play the part +which he assigned her." + + +Diana showed the paragraph to Max, who frowned as he read it, and finally +tore the newspaper in which it had appeared across and across, flinging +the pieces into the grate. + +Then he turned and laid his hands on Diana's shoulders, gazing +searchingly into her face. + +"Have you felt--anything of what that paragraph suggests?" he demanded. +"Am I taking too much from you, Diana? I love to keep you to myself--not +to have to share you with the world, but I won't stand in your light, or +hold you back if you wish to go--not even"--with a wry smile--"if it +should mean your absence on a tour." + +"Silly boy!" Diana patted his head reprovingly. "I don't _want_ to sing +in public--at least, not now, not yet. Later on, I dare say, I shall +like to take it up again. And as for leaving you and going on +tour"--laughingly--"the latter half of the paragraph should serve as a +warning to me not to think of such a thing!" + +To her surprise Max did not laugh with her. Instead, he answered +coldly:-- + +"I hope you have more sense than to pay attention to what any damned +newspaper may have to say about me--or about Miss de Gervais either." + +"Why, Max,--Max--" + +Diana stared at him in dismay, flushing a little. It was the first time +he had spoken harshly to her since their marriage. + +In an instant he had caught her in his arms, passionately repentant. + +"Dearest, forgive me! It was only--only that you are bound to read such +things, and it angered me for a moment. Miss de Gervais and I see too +much of each other to escape all comment." + +Diana withdrew herself slowly from his arms. + +"And--and must you see so much of her now? Now that we are married?" she +asked, rather wistfully. + +"Why, of course. We have so many professional matters to discuss. You +must be prepared for that, Diana. When we begin rehearsing 'Mrs. +Fleming's Husband,' I shall be down at the theatre every day." + +"Oh, yes, at the theatre. But--but you go to see Adrienne rather often +now, don't you? And the rehearsals haven't begun yet." + +Max hesitated a moment. Then he said quietly:-- + +"Dear, you must learn not to be jealous of my work. There are +always--many things--that I have to discuss with Miss de Gervais." + +And so, for the time being, the subject dropped. But the shadow had +flitted for a moment across the face of the sun. A little cloud, no +bigger than a man's hand, had shown itself upon the horizon. + +In July the Erringtons left town to spend a brief holiday at Crailing +Rectory, and on their return, the preparations for the production of +"Mrs. Fleming's Husband" went forward in good earnest. + +They had not been back in town a week before Diana realised that, as the +wife of a dramatist on the eve of the production of a play, she must be +prepared to cede her prior right in her husband to the innumerable people +who claimed his time on matters relating to the forthcoming production, +and, above all, to the actress who was playing the leading part in it. + +And it was in respect of this latter demand that Diana found the +matrimonial shoe begin to pinch. To her, it seemed as though Adrienne +were for ever 'phoning Max to come and see her, and invariably he set +everything else aside--even Diana herself, if needs be--and obeyed her +behest. + +"I can't see why Adrienne wants to consult you so often," Diana protested +one day. "She is perpetually ringing you up to go round to Somervell +Street--or if it's not that, then she is writing to you." + +Max laughed her protest aside. + +"Well, there's a lot to consult about, you see," he said vaguely. + +"So it seems. I shall be glad when it is all finished and I have you to +myself again. When will the play be on?" + +"About the middle of October," he replied, fidgeting restlessly with the +papers that strewed his desk. They were talking in his own particular +den, and Diana's eyes ruefully followed the restless gesture. + +"I suppose," she said slowly, "you want me to go?" + +"Well"--apologetically--"I have a lot to attend to this morning. Will +you send Jerry to me--do you mind, dearest?" + +"It wouldn't make much difference if I did," she responded grimly, as she +went towards the door. + +Max looked after her thoughtfully in silence. When she had gone, he +leaned his head rather wearily upon his hand. + +"It's better so," he muttered. "Better she should think it's only the +play that binds me to Adrienne." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE APPROACHING SHADOW + +Diana gathered up her songs and slowly dropped them into her +music-case, while Baroni stared at her with a puzzled, brooding look in +his eyes. + +At last he spoke:-- + +"You are throwing away the great gift God has given you. First, you +will take no more engagements, and now--what is it? Where is your +voice?" + +Diana, conscious of having done herself less than justice at the lesson +which was just concluded, shook her head. + +"I don't know," she said simply. "I don't seem able to sing now, +somehow." + +Baroni shrugged his shoulders. + +"You are fretting," he declared. "And so the voice suffers." + +"Fretting? I don't know that I've anything to fret about"--vaguely. +"Only I shall be glad when 'Mrs. Fleming's Husband' is actually +produced. Just now"--with a rather wistful smile--"I don't seem to +have a husband to call my own. Miss de Gervais claims so much of his +time." + +Baroni's brow grew stormy. + +"Mees de Gervais? Of course! It is inevitable!" he muttered. "I knew +it must be like that." + +Diana regarded him curiously. + +"But why? Do--do all dramatists have to consult so much with the +leading actress in the play?" + +The old _maestro_ made a sweeping gesture with his arm, as though +disavowing any knowledge of the matter. + +"Do not ask me!" he said bitterly. "Ask Max Errington--ask your +husband these questions." + +At the condemnation in his voice her loyalty asserted itself +indignantly. + +"You are right," she said quickly. "I ought not to have asked you. +Good-bye, signor." + +But Diana's loyalty was hard put to it to fight the newly awakened +jealousy that was stirring in her heart, and it seemed as though just +now everything and everybody combined to add fuel to the fire, for, +only a few days later, when Miss Lermontof came to Lilac Lodge to +practise with Diana, she, too, added her quota of disturbing comment. + +"You're looking very pale," she remarked, at the end of the hour. "And +you're shockingly out of voice! What's the matter?" + +Then, as Diana made no answer, she added teasingly: "Matrimony doesn't +seem to have agreed with you too well. Doesn't Max play the devoted +husband satisfactorily?" + +Diana flushed. + +"You've no right to talk like that, Olga, even in jest," she said, with +a little touch of matronly dignity that sat rather quaintly and sweetly +upon her. "I know you don't like Max--never have liked him--but please +recollect that you're speaking of my husband." + +"You misunderstand me," replied the Russian, coolly, as she drew on her +gloves. "I _don't_ dislike him; but I do think he ought to be +perfectly frank with you. As you say, he is your husband"--pointedly. + +"Perfectly frank with me?" + +Miss Lermontof nodded. + +"Yes." + +"He has been," affirmed Diana. + +"Has he, indeed? Have you ever asked him"--she paused +significantly--"who he is?" + +"_Who he is_?" Diana felt her heart contract. What new mystery was +this at which the other was hinting? + +"_Who he is_?" she repeated. "Why--why--what do you mean?" + +The accompanists queer green eyes narrowed between their heavy lids. + +"Ask him--that's all," she replied shortly. + +She drew her furs around her shoulders preparatory to departure, but +Diana stepped in front of her, laying a detaining hand on her arm. + +"What do you mean?" she demanded hotly. "Are you implying now that Max +is going about under a false name? I hate your hints! Always, always +you've tried to insinuate something against Max. . . . No!"--as the +Russian endeavoured to free herself from her clasp--"No! You shan't +leave this house till you've answered my question. You've made an +accusation, and you shall prove it--if I have to bring you face to face +with Max himself!" + +"I've made no accusation--merely a suggestion that you should ask him +who he is. And as to bringing me face to face with him--I can assure +you"--there was an inflection of ironical amusement in her light +tones--"no one would be less anxious for such a _dénouement_ than Max +Errington himself. Now, good-bye; think over what I've said. And +remember"--mockingly--"Adrienne de Gervais is a bad friend for the man +one loves!" + +She flitted through the doorway, and Diana was left to deal as best she +might with the innuendo contained in her speech. + +"_Adrienne de Gervais is a bad friend for the man one loves._" + +The phrase seemed to crystallise in words the whole vague trouble that +had been knocking at her heart, and she realised suddenly, with a shock +of unbearable dismay, that she was _jealous--jealous of Adrienne_! +Hitherto, she had not in the least understood the feeling of depression +and _malaise_ which had assailed her. She had only known that she felt +restless and discontented when Max was out of her sight, irritated at +the amount of his time which Miss de Gervais claimed, and she had +ascribed these things to the depth of her love for him! But now, with +a sudden flash of insight, engendered by the Russian's dexterous +suggestion, she realised that it was jealousy, sheer primitive jealousy +of another woman that had gripped her, and her young, wholesome, +spontaneous nature recoiled in horrified self-contempt at the +realisation. + +Pobs' good counsel came back to her mind: "It seems to me that if you +love him, you needs _must_ trust him." Ah! but that was uttered in +regard to another matter--the secret which shadowed Max's life--and she +_had_ trusted him over that, she told herself. This, this jealousy of +another woman, was an altogether different thing, something which had +crept insidiously into her heart, and woven its toils about her almost +before she was aware of it. + +And behind it all there loomed a new terror. Olga Lermontof's advice: +"_Ask him who he is_," beat at the back of her brain, fraught with +fresh mystery, the forerunner of a whole host of new suspicions. + +Secrecy and concealment of any kind were utterly alien to Diana's +nature. Impulsive, warm-hearted, quick-tempered, she was the last +woman in the world to have been thrust by an unkind fate into an +atmosphere of intrigue and mystery. She was like a pretty, fluttering, +summer moth, caught in the gossamer web of a spider--terrified, +struggling, battling against something she did not understand, and +utterly without the patience and strong determination requisite to free +herself. + +For hours after Olga's departure she fought down the temptation to +follow her advice and question her husband. She could not bring +herself to hurt him--as it must do if he guessed that she distrusted +him. But neither could she conquer the suspicions that had leaped to +life within her. At last, for the time being, love obtained the +mastery--won the first round of the struggle. + +"I will trust him," she told herself. "And--and whether I trust him or +not," she ended up defiantly, "at least he shall never know, never see +it, if--if I can't." + +So that it was a very sweet and repentant, if rather wan, Diana that +greeted her husband when he returned from the afternoon rehearsal at +the theatre. + +Max's keen eyes swept the white, shadowed face. + +"Has Miss Lermontof been here to-day?" he asked abruptly. + +"Yes." A burning flush chased away her pallor as she answered his +question. + +"I see." + +"You see?"--nervously. "What do you see?" + +A very gentle expression came into Max's eyes. + +"I see," he said kindly, "that I have a tired wife. You mustn't let +Baroni and Miss Lermontof work you too hard between them." + +"Oh, they don't, Max." + +"All right, then. Only"--cupping her chin in his hand and turning her +face up to his--"I notice I often have a somewhat worried-looking wife +after one of Miss Lermontof's visits. I don't think she is too good a +friend for you, Diana. Couldn't you get some one else to accompany +you?" + +Diana hesitated. She would have been quite glad to dispense with +Olga's services had it been possible. The Russian was for ever hinting +at something in connection either with Max or Miss de Gervais; to-day +she had but gone a step further than usual. + +"Well?" queried Max, reading the doubt in Diana's eyes. + +"I'm afraid I couldn't engage any one else to accompany me," she said +at last. "You see, Olga is Baroni's chosen accompanist, and--it might +make trouble." + +A curious expression crossed his face. + +"Yes," he agreed slowly. "It might--make trouble, as you say. Well, +why not ask Joan to stay with you for a time--to counterbalance +matters?" + +"Excellent suggestion!" exclaimed Diana, her spirits going up with a +bound. Joan was always so satisfactory and cheerful and commonplace +that she felt as though her mere presence in the house would serve to +dispel the vague, indefinable atmosphere of suspicion that seemed +closing round her. "I'll write to her at once." + +"Yes, do. If she can come next month, she will be here for the first +night of 'Mrs. Fleming's Husband.'" + +Diana went away to write her letter, while Max remained pacing +thoughtfully up and down the room, tapping restlessly with his fingers +on his chest as he walked. His face showed signs of fatigue--the hard +work in connection with the production of his play was telling on +him--and since the brief interview with his wife, a new look of +anxiety, an alert, startled expression, had dawned in his eyes. + +He seemed to be turning something over in his mind as he paced to and +fro. At last, apparently, he came to a decision. + +"I'll do it," he said aloud. "It's a possible chance of silencing her." + +He made his way downstairs, pausing at the door of the library, where +Diana was poring over her letter to Joan. + +"I find I must go out again," he said. "But I shall be back in time +for dinner." + +Diana looked up in dismay. + +"But you've had no tea, Max," she protested. + +"Can't stay for it now, dear." + +He dropped a light kiss on her hair and was gone, while Diana, flinging +down her pen, exclaimed aloud:-- + +"It's that woman again! I know it is! She's rung him up!" + +And it never dawned upon her that the fact that she had unthinkingly +referred to Adrienne de Gervais as "that woman" marked a turning-point +in her attitude towards her. + +Meanwhile Errington hailed a taxi and directed the chauffeur to drive +him to 24 Brutton Square, where he asked to see Miss Lermontof. + +He was shown into the big and rather gloomy-looking public +drawing-room, of which none of Mrs. Lawrence's student-boarders made +use except when receiving male visitors, much preferring the cheery +comfort of their own bed-sitting-rooms--for Diana had been the only one +amongst them whose means had permitted the luxury of a separate +sitting-room--and in a few minutes Olga joined him there. + +There was a curiously hostile look in her face as she greeted him. + +"This is--an unexpected pleasure, Max," she began mockingly. "To what +am I indebted?" + +Errington hesitated a moment. Then, his keen eyes resting piercingly +on hers, he said quietly:-- + +"I want to know how we stand, Olga. Are you trying to make mischief +for me with my wife?" + +"Then she's asked you?" exclaimed Olga triumphantly. + +"Diana has asked me nothing. Though I have no doubt that you have been +hinting and suggesting things to her that she would ask me about if it +weren't for her splendid, loyalty. You have the tongue of an asp, +Olga! Always, after your visits, I can see that Diana is worried and +unhappy." + +"How can she ever be happy--as your wife?" + +Errington winced. + +"I could make her happy--if you--you and Baroni--would let me. I know +I must regard you as an enemy in--that other matter . . . as a 'passive +resister,' at least," he amended, with a bitter smile. "But am I to +regard you as an enemy to my marriage, too? Or, is it your idea of +punishment, perhaps--to wreck my happiness?" + +Olga shrugged her shoulders, and, walking to the window, stood there +silently, staring out into the street. When she turned back again, her +eyes were full of tears. + +"Max," she said earnestly, "you may not believe it, but I want your +happiness above everything else in the world. There is no one I love +as I love you. Give up--that other affair. Wash your hands of it. +Let Adrienne go, and take your happiness with Diana. That's what I'm +working for--to make you choose between Diana and that interloper. You +won't give her up for me; but perhaps, if Diana--if your wife--insists, +you will shake yourself free, break with Adrienne de Gervais at last. +Sometimes I'm almost tempted to tell Diana the truth, to force your +hand!" + +Errington's eyes blazed. + +"If you did that," he said quietly, "I would never see, or speak to +you, again." + +Olga shivered a little. + +"Your honour is mine," he went on. "Remember that." + +"It isn't fair," she burst out passionately. "It isn't fair to put it +like that. Why should I, and you, and Diana--all of us--be sacrificed +for Adrienne?" + +"Because you and I are--what we are, and because Diana is my wife." + +Olga looked at him curiously. + +"Then--if it came to a choice--you would actually sacrifice Diana?" + +Errington's face whitened. + +"It will not--it shall not!" he said vehemently. "Diana's faith will +pull us through." + +Olga smiled contemptuously. + +"Don't be too sure. After all a woman's trust won't stand everything, +and you're asking a great deal from Diana--a blind faith, under +circumstances which might shake the confidence of any one. +Already"--she leaned forward a little--"already she is beginning to be +jealous of Adrienne." + +"And whom have I to thank for that? You--you, from whom, more than +from any other, I might have expected loyalty." + +Olga shook her head. + +"No, not me. But the fact that no wife worth the name will stand +quietly by and see her husband at the beck and call of another woman." + +"More especially when there is some one who drops poison in her ear day +by day," he retorted. + +"Yes," she acknowledged frankly. "If I can bring matters to a head, +force you to a choice between Adrienne and Diana, I shall do it. And +then, before God, Max! I believe you'll free yourself from that woman." + +"No," he answered quietly, "I shall not." + +"You'll sacrifice Diana?"--incredulously. + +A smile of confidence lightened his face. + +"I don't think it will come to that. I'm staking--everything--on +Diana's trust in me." + +"Then you'll lose--lose, I tell you." + +"No," he said steadily. "I shall win." + +Olga smote her hands together. + +"Was there ever such a fool! I tell you, no woman's trust can hold out +for ever. And since you can't explain to her--" + +"It won't be for ever," he broke in quickly. "Everything goes well. +Before long all the concealment will be at an end. And I shall be +free." + +Olga turned away. + +"I can't wish you success," she said bitterly. "The day that brings +you success will be the blackest hour of my life." + +Errington's face softened a little. + +"Olga, you are unreasonable--" + +"Unreasonable, am I? Because I grudge paying for the sins of +others? . . . If that is unreasonable--yes, then, I _am_ unreasonable! +Now, go. Go, and remember, Max, we are on opposite sides of the camp." + +Errington paused at the door. + +"So long as you keep your honour--_our_ honour--clean," he said, "do +what you like! I have utter, absolute trust in Diana." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE "FIRST NIGHT" PERFORMANCE + +The curtain fell amidst a roar of applause, and the lights flashed up +over the auditorium once more. It was the first night performance of +"Mrs. Fleming's Husband," and the house was packed with the usual crowd +of first-nighters, critics, and members of "the" profession who were +anxious to see Miss de Gervais in the new part Max Errington had +created for her. + +Diana and Joan Stair were in a box, escorted only by Jerry, since Max +had firmly refused to come down to the theatre for the first +performance. + +"I can't stand first nights," he had said. "At least, not of my own +plays." And not even Diana's persuasions had availed to move him from +this decision. + +Joan was ecstatic in her praise. + +"Isn't Adrienne simply wonderful?" she exclaimed, as the music of the +_entr'acte_ stole out from the hidden orchestra. + +"'M, yes." Diana's reply lacked enthusiasm. + +Joan, if she could not boast great powers of intuition, was dowered +with a keen observation, and she had not spent a week at Lilac Lodge +without putting two and two together and making four of them. She had +noticed a great change in Diana. The girl was moody and unusually +silent; her gay good spirits had entirely vanished, and more than once +Joan had caught her regarding her husband with a curious mixture of +resentment and contempt in her eyes. Joan was frankly worried over the +state of affairs. + +"Why this _nil admirari_ attitude?" she asked. "Have you and Adrienne +quarrelled?" + +"Quarrelled?" Diana raised her brows ever so slightly. "What should +we quarrel about? As a matter of fact, I really don't see very much of +her nowadays." + +"So I imagined," replied Joan calmly. "When I stayed with you last +May, either she came to the Lodge, or you went to Somervell Street, +every day of the week. This time, you've not seen each other since I +came." + +"No? I don't think"--lightly--"that Adrienne cares much for members of +her own sex. She prefers--their husbands." + +Joan stared in amazement. The little acid speech was so unlike Diana +that she felt convinced it sprang from some new and strong antagonism +towards the actress. What could be the cause of it? Diana and +Adrienne had been warm friends only a few months ago! + +Joan's eyes travelled from Diana's small, set face to Jerry's pleasant +boyish one. The latter had opened his mouth to speak, then thought +better of it, and closed it again, reddening uncomfortably, and his +dismayed expression was so obvious as to be almost comic. + +The rise of the curtain for the third and last act put a summary end to +any further conversation and Joan bent her attention on the stage once +more, though all the time that her eyes and ears were absorbing the +shifting scenes and brilliant dialogue of the play a little, persistent +inner voice at the back of her brain kept repeating Diana's nonchalant +"_I really don't see very much of her nowadays_," and querying +irrepressibly, "_Why not_?" + +Meanwhile, Diana, unconscious of the uneasy curiosity she had awakened +in the mind of Joan, was watching the progress of the play intently. +How designedly it was written around Adrienne de Gervais--calculated to +give every possible opportunity to a fine emotional actress! Her lips +closed a little more tightly together as the thought took hold of her. +The author must have studied Adrienne, watched her every mood, learned +every twist of her temperament, to have portrayed a character so +absolutely suited to her as that of Mrs. Fleming. And how could a man +know a woman's soul so well unless--unless it were the soul of the +woman he loved? That was it; that was the explanation of all those +things which had puzzled, and bewildered her for so long. And the +author was her husband! + +Diana, staring down from her box at that exquisite, breathing +incarnation of grace on the stage below, felt that she hated Adrienne. +She had never hated any one before, and the intensity of her feeling +frightened her. Since a few months ago, strange, deep emotions had +stirred within her--a passion of love and a passion of hatred such as +in the days of her simple girlhood she would not have believed to be +possible to any ordinary well-brought-up young Englishwoman. That Max +was capable of a fierce heat of passion, she knew. But then, he was +not all English; wilder blood ran in his veins. She could imagine his +killing a man if driven by the lash of passionate jealousy. But she +had never pictured herself obsessed by hate of a like quality. + +And yet, now, as her eyes followed Adrienne's slender figure, with its +curious little air of hauteur that always set her so apart from other +women, moving hither and thither on the stage, her hands clenched +themselves fiercely, and her grey eyes dilated with the intensity of +her hatred. Almost--almost she could understand how men and women +killed each other in the grip of a jealous love. . . . + +The play was ended. Adrienne had bowed repeatedly in response to the +wild enthusiasm of the audience, and of a sudden a new cry mingled with +the shouts and clapping. + +"Author! Author!" + +Adrienne came forward again and bowed, smilingly shaking her head, +gesturing a negative with her hands. But still the cry went on, +"Author! Author!"--the steady, persistent drone of an audience which +does not mean to be denied. + +Diana experienced a brief thrill of triumph. She felt convinced that +Adrienne would have liked to have Max standing beside her at this +moment. It would have set the seal on an evening of glorious success, +completed it, as it were. And he had refused to come, declined--so +Diana put it to herself--to share the evening's triumph with the +actress who had so well interpreted his work. At least this would be a +pin-prick in the enemy's side! + +And then--then--a hand pulled aside the heavy folds of the stage +curtain, and the next moment Max and Adrienne were standing there +together, bowing and smiling, while the audience roared and cheered its +enthusiasm. + +Diana could hardly believe her eyes. Max had told her so emphatically +that he would not come. And now, he was here! He had lied to her! +The affair had been pre-arranged between him and Adrienne all the time? +Only she--the wife!--had been kept in the dark. Probably he had spent +the entire evening behind the scenes. . . . In her overwrought +condition, no supposition was too wild for credence. + +Vaguely she heard some one at the back of the house shout "Speech!" and +the cry was taken up by a dozen voices, but Max only laughed and shook +his head, and once more the heavy curtains fell together, shutting him +and Adrienne from her sight. + +Mechanically Diana gathered up her wraps and prepared to leave the box. + +"Aren't you coming round behind to congratulate them, Mrs. Errington?" + +Jerry's astonished tones broke on her ears as she turned down the +corridor in the direction of the vestibule. + +"No," she replied quietly. "I'm going home." + + * * * * * * + +"You told me you wouldn't come to the theatre--and you intended going +all the time!" + +Diana's wraps were flung on the chair beside her, and she stood, a +slim, pliant figure in her white evening gown, defiantly facing her +husband. + +"No, I'd no intention of going. I detest first nights," he answered. + +"Then why were you there? Oh, I don't believe it--I don't believe it! +You simply wanted to spend the evening with Adrienne; that was why you +refused to go with me." + +"Diana!" Max spoke incredulously. "You can't believe--you can't think +that!" + +"But I do think that!"--imperiously. "What else can I think?" Her +long-pent jealousy had broken forth at last, and the words raced from +her lips. "You refused to come when I asked you--offered me Jerry as +an escort instead. Jerry!"--scornfully--"I'm to be content with my +husband's secretary, I suppose, so that my husband himself can dance +attendance on Adrienne de Gervais?" + +Max stood motionless, his eyes like steel. + +"You are being--rather childish," he said at last, with slow +deliberation. His cool, contemptuous tones cut like a whip. + +She had been rapidly losing her self-command, and, reading the intense +anger beneath his outward calm, she made an effort to pull herself +together. + +"Childish?" she retorted. "Yes, I suppose it is childish to mind being +deceived. I ought to have been prepared for it--expected it." + +At the note of suffering in her voice the anger died swiftly out of his +eyes. + +"You don't mean that, Diana," he said, more gently. + +"Yes, I do. You warned me--didn't you?--that there would be things you +couldn't explain. I suppose"--bitterly--"this is one of them!" + +"No, it is not. I can explain this. I didn't intend coming to-night, +as I told you. But Miss de Gervais rang up from the theatre and begged +me to come, so, of course, as she wished it--" + +"'As she wished it!' Are her wishes, then, of so much more importance +than mine?" + +Errington was silent for a moment. At last he replied quietly:-- + +"You know they are not. But in this case, in the matter of the play, +she is entitled to every consideration." + +Diana's eyes searched his face. Beneath the soft laces of her gown her +breast still rose and fell stormily, but she had herself in hand now. + +"Max, when I married you I took . . . something . . . on trust." She +spoke slowly, weighing her words, "But I didn't expect that something +to include--Adrienne! What has she to do with you?" + +Errington's brows came sharply together. He drew a quick, short breath +as though bracing himself to meet some unforeseen danger. + +"I've written a play for her," he answered shortly. + +"Yes, I know. But is that all that there is between you--this play?" + +"I can't answer that question," he replied quietly. + +Diana flung out her hand with a sudden, passionate gesture. + +"You've answered it, I think," she said scornfully. + +He took a quick stride towards her, catching her by the arms. + +"Diana"--his voice vibrated--"won't you trust me?" + +"Trust you! How can I?" she broke out wildly. "If trusting you means +standing by whilst Adrienne-- Oh, I can't bear it. You're asking +too much of me, Max. I didn't know . . . when you asked me to trust +you . . . that it meant--_this_! . . . And there's something else, +too. Who are you? What is your real name? I don't even +know"--bitterly--"whom I've married!" + +He released her suddenly, almost as though she had struck him. + +"Who has been talking to you?" he demanded, thickly. + +"_Then it's true_?" + +Diana's hands fell to her sides and every drop of colour drained away +from her face. The question had been lying dormant in her mind ever +since the day when Olga Lermontof had first implanted it there. Now it +had sprung from her lips, dragged forth by the emotion of the moment. +_And he couldn't answer it_! + +"Then it's true?" she repeated. + +Errington's face set like a mask. + +"That is a question you shouldn't have asked," he replied coldly. + +"And one you cannot answer?" + +He bent his head. + +"And one I cannot answer." + +Very slowly she picked up her wraps. + +"Thank you," she said unsteadily. "I'll--I'll go now." + +He laid his hand deliberately on the door-handle. + +"No," he said. "No, you won't go. I've heard what you have to say; +now you'll listen to me. Good God, Diana!" he continued passionately. +"Do you think I'm going to stand quietly by and see our happiness +wrecked?" + +"I don't see how you can prevent it," she said dully. + +"I? No; I can do nothing. But you can. Diana, beloved, have faith in +me! I can't explain those things to you--not now. Some day, please +God, I shall be able to, but till that day comes--trust me!" There was +a depth of supplication and entreaty in his tone, but it left her +unmoved. She felt frozen--passionless. + +"Do you mean--do you mean that Adrienne, your name, everything, is all +part of--of what you can't tell me? Part of--the shadow?" + +He was silent a moment. Then he answered steadily:-- + +"Yes. That much I may tell you." + +She put up her hand and pushed back her hair impatiently from her +forehead. + +"I can't understand it . . . I can't understand it," she muttered. + +"Dear, must one understand--to love? . . . Can't you have faith?" + +His eyes, those blue eyes of his which could be by turns so fierce, so +unrelenting, and--did she not know it to her heart's undoing?--so +unutterably tender, besought her. But, for once, they awakened no +response. She felt cold--quite cold and indifferent. + +"No, Max," she answered wearily. "I don't think I can. You ask me to +believe that there is need for you to see so much of Adrienne. At +first you said it was because of the play. Now you say it has to do +with this--this thing I may not know. . . . I'm afraid I can't believe +it. I think a man's wife should come first--first of anything. I've +tried--oh, I've tried not to mind when you left me so often to go to +Adrienne. I used to tell myself that it was only on account of the +play. I tried to believe it, because--because I loved you so. +But"--with a bitter little smile--"I don't think I ever _really_ +believed it--I only cheated myself. . . . There's something else, +too--the shadow. Baroni knows what it is--and Olga Lermontof. Only +I--your wife--I know nothing." + +She paused, as though expecting some reply, but Max remained silent, +his arms folded across his chest, his head a little bent. + +"I was only a child when you married me, Max," she went on presently. +"I didn't realise what it meant for a husband to have some secret +business which he cannot tell his wife. But I know now what it means. +It's merely an excuse to be always with another woman--" + +In a stride Max was beside her, his eyes blazing, his hands gripping +her shoulders with a clasp that hurt her. + +"How dare you?" he exclaimed. "Unsay that--take it back? Do you hear?" + +She shrank a little, twisting in his grasp, but he held her +remorselessly. + +"No, I won't take it back. . . . Ah! Let me go, Max, you're hurting +me!" + +He released her instantly, and, as his hands fell away from her +shoulders, the white flesh reddened into bars where his fingers had +gripped her. His eyes rested for a moment on the angry-looking marks, +and then, with an inarticulate cry, he caught her to him, pressing his +lips against the bruised flesh, against her eyes, her mouth, crushing +her in his arms. + +She lay there passively; but her body stiffened a little, and her lips +remained quite still and unresponsive beneath his. + +"Diana! . . . Beloved! . . ." + +She thrust her hands against his chest. + +"Let me go," she whispered breathlessly, "Let me go. I can't bear you +to touch me." + +With a quick, determined movement she freed herself, and stood a little +away from him, panting. + +"Don't ever . . . do that . . . again. I--I can't bear you to touch me +. . . not now." + +She made a wavering step towards the door. He held it open for her, +and in silence she passed out and up the stairs. Presently, from the +landing above, he heard the lock of her bedroom door click into its +socket. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE SHADOW FALLS + +Breakfast, the following morning, was something of an ordeal. Neither +Max nor Diana spoke to each other if speech could be avoided, and, when +this was impossible, they addressed each other with a frigid politeness +that was more painful than the silence. + +Jerry and Joan, sensing the antagonism in the atmosphere, endeavoured +to make conversation, but their efforts received scant encouragement, +and both were thankful when the meal came to an end, and they were free +to seek refuge in another room, leaving husband and wife alone together. + +Diana glanced a trifle nervously at her husband as the door closed +behind them. There was a coldness, an aloofness about him, that +reminded her vividly of the early days of their acquaintanceship, when +his cool indifference of manner had set a barrier between them which +her impulsive girlhood had been powerless to break through. + +"Will you spare me a few minutes in my study?" he said. His face was +perfectly impassive; only the peculiar brilliancy of his eyes spoke of +the white-hot anger he was holding in leash. + +Diana nodded silently. For a moment, bereft of words, she quailed +before the knowledge of that concentrated anger, but by the time they +had reached his study she had pulled herself together, and was ready to +face him with a high temper almost equal to his own. + +She had had the night for reflection, and the sense of bitter injustice +under which she was labouring had roused in her the same dogged, +unbending obstinacy which, in a much smaller way, had evinced itself +when Baroni had thrown the music at her and had subsequently bade her +pick it up. + +But now that sense of wild rebellion against injustice, against +personal injury, was magnified a thousandfold. For months she had been +drifting steadily apart from her husband, acutely conscious of that +secret thing in his life, and fiercely resentful of its imperceptible, +yet binding influence on all his actions. Again and again she had been +perplexed and mystified by certain incomprehensible things which she +had observed--for instance, the fact that, as she knew, part of Max's +correspondence was conducted in cipher; that at times he seemed quite +unaccountably worried and depressed; and, above all, that he was for +ever at the beck and call of Adrienne de Gervais. + +Gradually she had begun to connect the two things--Adrienne, and that +secret which dwelt like a shadowy menace at the back of everything. It +was clear, too, that they were also linked together in the minds both +of Baroni and Olga Lermontof--a dropped sentence here, a hint there, +had assured her of that. + +Then had come Olga's definite suggestion, "Adrienne de Gervais is a bad +friend for the man one loves!" And from that point onward Diana had +seen new meanings in all that passed between her husband and the +actress, and a blind jealousy had taken possession of her. Something +out of the past bound her husband and Adrienne together, of that she +felt convinced. She believed that the knowledge which Max had chosen +to withhold from her--his wife--he shared with Adrienne--and all +Diana's fierce young sense of possession rose up in opposition. + +Last night, the sight of her husband and the actress, standing together +on the stage, had seemed to her to epitomise their relative +positions--Max and Adrienne, working together, fully in each other's +confidence, whilst she herself was the outsider, only the onlooker in +the box! + +"Well?" she said, defiantly turning to her husband. "Well? What is it +you wish to say to me?" + +"I want an explanation of your conduct--last night." + +"And I," she retorted impetuously, "I want an explanation of your +conduct--ever since we've been married!" + +He swept her demand aside as though it were the irresponsible prattle +of a child, ignored it utterly. He was conscious of only one +thing--that she had barred herself away from him, humiliated him, dealt +their mutual love a blow beneath which it reeled. + +The bolted door itself counted for nothing. What mattered was that it +was she who had closed it, deliberately choosing to shut him outside +her life, and cutting every cord of love and trust and belief that +bound them together. + +An Englishman might have stormed or laughed, as the mood took him, and +comforted himself with the reflection that she would "get over it." +But not so Max. The sensitiveness which he hid from the world at +large, but which revealed itself in the lines of that fine-cut mouth of +his, winced under the humiliation she had put upon him. Love, in his +idea, was a thing so delicate, so rare, that Diana's crude handling of +the situation bore for him a far deeper meaning than the impulsive, +headlong action of the over-wrought girl had rightly held. To Max, it +signified the end--the denial of all the exquisite trust and +understanding which love should represent. If she could think for an +instant that he would have asked aught from her at a moment when they +were so far apart in spirit, then she had not understood the ideal +oneness of body and soul which love signified to him, and the knowledge +that she had actually sought to protect herself from him had hurt him +unbearably. + +"Last night," he said slowly, "you showed me that you have no trust, no +faith in me any longer." + +And Diana, misunderstanding, thinking of the secret which he would not +share with her, and impelled by the jealousy that obsessed her, replied +impetuously:-- + +"Yes, I meant to show you that. You refuse me your confidence, and +expect me to believe in you! You set me aside for Adrienne de Gervais, +and then you ask me to--_trust_ you? How can I? . . . I'm not a fool, +Max." + +"So it's that? The one thing over which I asked your faith?" The +limitless scorn in his voice lashed her. + +"You had no right to ask it!" she broke out bitterly. "Oh, you knew +what it would mean. I, I was too young to realise. I didn't think--I +didn't understand what a horrible thing a secret between husband and +wife might be. But I can't bear it--I can't bear it any longer! I +sometimes wonder," she added slowly, "if you ever loved me?" + +"If I ever loved you?" he repeated. "There has never been any other +woman in the world for me. There never will be." + +The utter, absolute conviction of his tones knocked at her heart, but +fear and jealousy were stronger than love. + +"Then prove it!" she retorted. "Take me into your confidence; put +Adrienne out of your life." + +"It isn't possible--not yet," he said wearily. "You're asking what I +cannot do." + +She took a step nearer. + +"Tell me this, then. What did Olga Lermontof mean when she bade me ask +your name? Oh!"--with a quick intake of her breath--"you _must_ answer +that, Max; you _must_ tell me that. I have a _right_ to know it!" + +For a moment he was silent, while she waited, eager-eyed, tremulously +appealing, for his answer. At last it came. + +"No," he said inflexibly. "You have no--right--to ask anything I +haven't chosen to tell you. When you gave me your love, you gave me +your faith, too. I warned you what it might mean--but you gave it. +And I"--his voice deepened--"I worshipped you for it! But I see now, I +asked too much of you. More"--cynically--"than any woman has to give." + +"Then--then"--her voice trembled--"you mean you won't tell me anything +more?" + +"I can't." + +"And--and Adrienne? Everything must go on just the same?" + +"Just the same"--implacably. + +She looked at him, curiously. + +"And you expect me still to feel the same towards you, I suppose? To +behave as though nothing had come between us?" + +For a moment his control gave way. + +"I expect nothing," he said hoarsely. "I shall never ask you for +anything again--neither love nor friendship. As you have decreed, so +it shall be!" + +Slowly, with bent head, Diana turned and left the room. + +So this was the end! She had made her appeal, risked everything on his +love for her--and lost. Adrienne de Gervais was stronger than she! + +Hereafter, she supposed, they would live as so many other husbands and +wives lived--outwardly good friends, but actually with all the +beautiful links of love and understanding shattered and broken. + + * * * * * * + +"Since the first night of the play they've hardly said a word to each +other--only when it's absolutely necessary." Joan spoke dejectedly, +her chin cupped in her hand. + +Jerry nodded. + +"I know," he agreed. "It's pretty awful." + +He and Joan were having tea alone together, cosily, by the library +fire. Diana had gone out to a singing-lesson, and Errington was shut +up in his study attending to certain letters, written in +cipher--letters which reached him frequently, bearing a foreign +postmark, and the answers to which he never by any chance dictated to +his secretary. + +"Surely they can't have quarrelled, just because he didn't come to the +theatre with us that night," pursued Joan. "Do you think Diana could +have been offended because he came down afterwards to please Miss +Gervais?" + +"Partly that. But it's a lot of things together, really. I've seen it +coming. Diana's been getting restive for some time. There are--Look +here! I don't wish to pry into what's not my business, but a fellow +can't live in a house without seeing things, and there's something in +Errington's life which Di knows nothing about. And it's that--just the +not knowing--which is coming between them." + +"Well, then, why on earth doesn't he tell her about it, whatever it is?" + +Jerry shrugged his shoulders. + +"Can't say. _I_ don't know what it is; it's not my business to know. +But his wife's another proposition altogether." + +"I suppose he expects her to trust him over it," said Joan thoughtfully. + +"That's about the size of it. And Diana isn't taking any." + +"I should trust him with anything in the world--a man with that face!" +observed Joan, after a pause. + +"There you go!" cried Jerry discontentedly. "There you go, with your +unfailing faith in the visible object. A man's got to _look_ a hero +before you think twice about him! Mark my words, Jo--many a saint's +face has hidden the heart of a devil." + +Joan surveyed him consideringly. + +"I've never observed that you have a saint's face, Jerry," she remarked +calmly. + +"Beast! Joan"--he made a dive for her hand, but she eluded him with +the skill of frequent practice--"how much longer are you going to keep +me on tenterhooks? You know I'm the prodigal son, and that I'm only +waiting for you to say 'yes,' to return to the family bosom--" + +"And you propose to use me as a stepping stone! I know. You think +that if you return as an engaged young man--" + +"With a good reference from my last situation," interpolated Jerry, +grinning. + +"Yes--that too, then your father will forget all your peccadilloes and +say, 'Bless you, my children'--" + +"Limelight on the blushing bur-ride! And they lived happily ever +after! Yes, that's it! Jolly good programme, isn't it?" + +And somehow Jerry's big boyish arm slipped itself round Joan's +shoulders--and Joan raised no objections. + +"But--about Max and Diana?" resumed Miss Stair after a judicious +interval. + +"Well, what about them?" + +"Can't we--can't we do anything? Talk to them?" + +"I just see myself talking to Errington!" murmured Jerry. "I'd about +as soon discuss its private and internal arrangements with a volcano! +My dear kid, it all depends upon Diana and whether she's content to +trust her husband or not. _I'd_ trust Max through thick and thin, and +no questions asked. If he blew up the Houses of Parliament, I should +believe he'd some good reason for doing it. . . . But then, I'm not +his wife!" + +"Well, I shall talk to Diana," said Joan seriously. "I'm sure Dad +would, if he were here. And I do think, Jerry, you might screw up +courage to speak to Max. He can't eat you! And--and I simply hate to +see those two at cross purposes! They were so happy at the beginning." + +The mention of matrimonial happiness started a new train of thought, +and the conversation became of a more personal nature--the kind of +conversation wherein every second or third sentence starts with "when +we are married," and thence launches out into rose-red visions of the +great adventure. + +Presently the house door clanged, and a minute later Diana came into +the room. She threw aside her furs and looked round hastily. + +"Where's Max?" she asked sharply. + +"Not concealed beneath the Chesterfield," volunteered Jerry flippantly. +Then, as he caught a hostile sparkle of irritation in her grey eyes, he +added hastily, "He's in his study." + +Diana nodded, and, without further remark, went away in search of her +husband. + +"Are you busy, Max?" she asked, pausing on the threshold of the room +where he was working. + +He rose at once, placing a chair for her with the chilly courtesy which +he had accorded her since their last interview in this same room. + +"Not too busy to attend to you," he replied. "Where will you sit? By +the fire?" + +Diana shook her head. She was a little flushed, and her eyes were +bright with some suppressed excitement, + +"No thanks," she replied. "I only came to tell you that I've been +having a talk with Baroni about my voice, and--and that I've decided to +begin singing again this winter--professionally, I mean. It seems a +pity to waste any more time." + +She spoke rapidly, and with a certain nervousness. + +For an instant a look of acute pain leaped into Errington's eyes, but +it was gone almost at once, and he turned to her composedly. + +"Is that the only reason, Diana?" he said. "The waste of time?" + +She was silent a moment, busying herself stripping off her gloves. +Presently she looked up, forcing herself to meet his gaze. + +"No," she said steadily. "It isn't." + +"May I know the--other reasons?" + +Her lip curled. + +"I should have thought they were obvious. Our marriage has been a +mistake. It's a failure. And I can't bear this life any longer. . . . +I must have something to do." + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE OTHER WOMAN + +Carlo Baroni's joy knew no bounds when he understood that Diana had +definitely decided to return to the concert platform. His first action +was to order her away for a complete change and rest, so she and Joan +obediently packed their trunks and departed to Switzerland, where they +forgot for a time the existence of such things as London fogs, either +real or figurative, and threw themselves heart and soul into the winter +sports that were going forward. + +The middle of February found them once more in England, and Joan rejoined +her father, while Diana went back to Lilac Lodge. She was greatly +relieved to discover that the break had simplified several problems and +made it much easier for her to meet her husband and begin life again on +fresh terms. Max, indeed, seemed to have accepted the new _régime_ with +that same mocking philosophy with which he invariably faced the problems +of life--and which so successfully cloaked his hurt from prying eyes. + +He was uniformly kind in his manner to his wife--with that light, +half-cynical kindness which he had accorded her in the train on their +first memorable journey together, and which effectually set them as far +apart from each other as though they stood at the opposite ends of the +earth. + +Unreasonably enough, Diana bitterly resented this attitude. Womanlike, +she made more than one attempt to re-open the matter over which they had +quarrelled, but each was skilfully turned aside, and the fact that after +his one rejected effort at reconciliation, Max had calmly accepted the +new order of things, added fuel to the jealous fire that burned within +her. She told herself that if he still cared for her, if he were not +utterly absorbed in Adrienne de Gervais, he would never have rested until +he had restored the old, happy relations between them. + +Instinctively she sought to dull the pain at her heart by plunging +headlong into professional life. Her voice, thanks to the rest and +change of her visit to Switzerland, had regained all its former beauty, +and her return to the concert platform was received with an outburst of +popular enthusiasm. The newspapers devoted half a column apiece to the +subject, and several of them prophesied that it was in grand opera that +Madame Diana Quentin would eventually find the setting best suited to her +gifts. + +"Mere concert work"--wrote one critic--"will never give her the scope +which both her temperament and her marvellous voice demand." + +And with this opinion Baroni cordially concurred. It was his ultimate +ambition for Diana that she should study for grand opera, and she +herself, only too thankful to find something that would occupy her +thoughts and take her right out of herself, as it were, enabling her to +forget the overthrow of her happiness, flung herself into the work with +enthusiasm. + +Gradually, as time passed on, her bitter feelings towards Max softened a +little. That light, half-ironical manner he had assumed brought back to +her so vividly the Max Errington of the early days of their acquaintance +that it recalled, too, a measure of the odd attraction he had held for +her in that far-away time. + +That he still visited Adrienne very frequently she was aware, but often, +on his return from Somervell Street, he seemed so much depressed that she +began at last to wonder whether those visits were really productive of +any actual enjoyment. Possibly she had misjudged them--her husband and +her friend--and it might conceivably be really only business matters +which bound them together after all. + +If so--if that were true--how wantonly she had flung away her happiness! + +Late one afternoon, Max, who had been out since early morning, came in +looking thoroughly worn out. His eyes, ringed with fatigue, held an +alert look of strain and anxiety for which Diana was at a loss to account. + +She was at the piano when he entered the room, idly trying over some MS. +songs that had been submitted by aspiring composers anxious to secure her +interest. + +"Why, Max," she exclaimed, genuine concern in her voice, as she rose from +the piano. "How worried you look! What is the matter?" + +"Nothing," he returned. "At least, nothing in which you can help," he +added hastily. "Unless--" + +"Unless what? Please . . . let me help . . . if I can." Diana spoke +rather nervously. She was suddenly struck by the fact that the last few +months had been responsible for a great change in her husband's +appearance. He looked much thinner and older than formerly, she thought. +There were harassed lines in his face, and its worn contours and shadowed +eyes called aloud to the compassionate womanhood within her, to the +mother-instinct that involuntarily longs to heal and soothe. + +"Tell me what I can do, Max?" + +A smile curved his lips, half whimsical, half sad. + +"You can do for me what you do for all the rest of the world--I won't ask +more of you," he replied. "Sing to me." + +Diana coloured warmly. The first part of his speech stung her unbearably. + +"Sing to you?" she repeated. + +"Yes. I'm very tired, and nothing is more restful than music." Then, as +she hesitated, he added, "Unless, of course, I'm asking too much." + +"You know you are not," she answered swiftly. + +She resumed her place at the piano, and, while he lay back in his chair +with closed eyes, she sang to him--the music of the old masters who loved +melody, and into whose songs the bitterness and unrest of the twentieth +century had not crept. + +Presently, she thought, he slept, and very softly her hands strayed into +the simple, sorrowful music of "The Haven of Memory," and a note of +wistful appeal, not all of art, added a new depth to the exquisite voice. + + How once your love + But crowned and blessed me only, + Long and long ago. + +The refrain died into silence, and Diana, looking up, found Max's +piercing blue eyes fixed upon her. He was not asleep, then, after all. + +He smiled slightly as their glances met. + +"Do you remember I once told you I thought 'The Hell of Memory' would be +a more appropriate title? . . . I was quite right." + +"Max--" Diana's voice quavered and broke. + +A sudden eager light sprang into his face. Swiftly he same to her side +and stood looking down at her. + +"Diana," he said tensely, "must it always remain--the hell of memory?" + +They were very near to each other in that moment; the great wall +fashioned of jealousy and distrust was tottering to its foundations. + +And then, from the street below came the high-pitched, raucous sound of +the newsboy's voice:-- + +"_Attempted Murder of Miss Adrian Jervis! Premier Theatre Besieged._" + +The words, with their deadly import, cut between husband and wife like a +sword. + +"Good God!" The exclamation burst from Max with a cry of horror. In an +instant he was out of the room, down the stairs, and running bareheaded +along the street in pursuit of the newsboy, and a few seconds later he +was back with a newspaper, damp from the press, in his hands. + +Diana had remained sitting just as he had left her. She felt numbed. +The look of dread and consternation that had leaped into her husband's +face, as the news came shrilling up from the street below, had told her, +more eloquently than any words could do, how absolutely his life was +bound up in that of Adrienne de Gervais. A man whose heart's desire has +been suddenly snatched from him might look so; no other. + +Max, oblivious of everything else, was reading the brief newspaper +account at lightning speed. At last-- + +"I must go!" he said. "I must go round to Somervell Street at once." + +When he had gone, Diana picked up the newspaper from the floor where he +had tossed it, and smoothing out its crumpled sheet, proceeded to read +the short paragraph, surmounted by staring head-lines, which had sent her +husband hurrying hot-foot to Adrienne's house. + + +"MURDEROUS ATTACK ON MISS ADRIENNE DE GERVAIS. + +"As Miss Adrienne de Gervais, the popular actress, was leaving the +Premier Theatre after the matinee performance to-day, a man rushed out +from a side street and fired three shots at her, wounding her severely. +Miss de Gervais was carried into the theatre, where a doctor who chanced +to be passing rendered first aid. Within a very few minutes the news of +the outrage became known and the theatre was besieged by inquirers. The +would-be assassin, who made good his escape, was a man of unmistakably +foreign appearance." + + +Diana laid the paper down very quietly. This, then, was the news which +had power to bring that look of fear and dread to her husband's +face--which could instantly wipe out from his mind all thoughts of his +wife and of everything that concerned her. + +Perhaps, she reflected scornfully, it was as well that the revelation had +come when it did! Otherwise--otherwise, she had been almost on the verge +of forgetting her just cause for jealousy, forgetting all the past months +of misery, and believing in her husband once again. + +The trill of the telephone from below checked her bitter thoughts, and +hurrying downstairs into the hall, she lifted the receiver and held it to +her ear. + +"Yes. Who is it?" + +Possibly something was wrong with the wire, or perhaps it was only that +Diana's voice, particularly deep and low-pitched for a woman, misled the +speaker at the other end. Whatever it may have been, Adrienne's voice, +rather tremulous and shaky, came through the 'phone, and she was +obviously under the impression that she was speaking to Diana's husband. + +"Oh, is that you, Max? Don't be frightened. I'm not badly hurt. I hear +it's already in the papers, and as I knew you'd be nearly mad with +anxiety, I've made the doctor let me 'phone you myself. Of course you +can guess who did it. It was not the man you caught waiting about +outside the theatre. It was the taller one of the two we saw at Charing +Cross that day. Please come round as soon as you can." + +Diana's lips set in a straight line. Very deliberately she replaced the +receiver and rang off without reply. A small, fine smile curved her lips +as she reflected that, within a few minutes, Max's arrival at Somervell +Street would enlighten Miss de Gervais as to the fact that she had bean +pouring out her reassuring remarks to the wrong person. + +Half an hour later Diana came slowly downstairs, dressed for dinner. +Jerry was waiting for her in the hall. + +"There's a 'phone message just come through from Max," he said, a trifle +awkwardly. (Jerry had not lived through the past few months at Lilac +Lodge without realising the terms on which the Erringtons stood with each +other.) "He won't be back till late." + +Diana bestowed her sweetest smile upon him. + +"Then we shall be dining _tete-à-tete_. How nice! Come along." + +She took his arm and they went in together. + +"This is a very serious thing about Miss de Gervais, isn't it?" she said +conversationally, as they sat down. + +"A dastardly business," assented Jerry, with indignation. + +"I suppose--did Max give you any further particulars?" + +"The bullet's broken her arm just above the elbow. Of course she won't +be able to play for some time to come." + +"How her understudy must be rejoicing," murmured Diana reflectively. + +"It seems," pursued Jerry, "that the shot was fired by some shady actor +fellow. Down on his luck, you know, and jealous of Miss de Gervais' +success. At least, that's what they suspect, and Max has 'phoned me to +send a paragraph to all the morning papers to that effect." + +"That's very curious," commented Diana. + +"Why? I should think it's a jolly good guess." + +Diana smiled enigmatically. + +"Anyhow, it sounds a very natural supposition," she agreed lightly, and +then switched the conversation on to other subjects. Jerry, however, +seemed rather absent and distrait, and presently, when at last the +servants had handed the coffee and withdrawn, he blurted out:-- + +"It sounds beastly selfish of me, but this affair has upset my own little +plans rather badly." + +"Yours, Jerry?" said Diana kindly. "How's that? Give me a cigarette and +tell me what's gone wrong." + +"What would Baroni say to your smoking?" queried Jerry, as he tendered +his case and held a match for her to light her cigarette. + +"I'm not singing anywhere for a week," laughed Diana. "So this orgy is +quite legitimate." And she inhaled luxuriously. "Now, go on, Jerry, +what plans of yours have been upset?" + +"Well"--Jerry reddened--"I wrote to my governor the other day. It--it +was to please Joan, you know." + +Diana nodded, her grey eyes dancing. + +"Of course," she said gravely, "I quite understand." + +"And--and here's his answer!" + +He opened his pocket-book, and extracting a letter from the bundle it +contained, handed it to Diana. + +"You mean you want me to read this?" + +"Please." + +Diana unfolded it, and read the following terse communication:-- + + +"Come home and bring the lady. Am fattening the calf.--Your affectionate +Father." + + +"Jerry, I should adore your father," said Diana, as she gave him back the +letter. "He must he a perfect gem amongst parents." + +"He's not a bad old chap," acknowledged Jerry, as he replaced the +paternal invitation in his pocket-book. "But you see the difficulty? I +was going to ask Errington to give me a few days' leave, and I don't like +to bother him now that he has all this worry about Miss de Gervais on his +hands." + +Diana flushed hotly at Jerry's tacit acceptance of the fact that +Adrienne's affairs were naturally of so much moment to her husband. It +was another pin-prick in the wound that had been festering for so long. +She ignored it, however, and answered quietly:-- + +"Yes, I see. Perhaps you had better leave it for a few days. What about +Pobs? He'll have to be consulted in the matter, won't he?" + +"I told him, long ago, that I wanted Joan. Before"--with a grin--"I ever +summoned up pluck to tell Joan herself! He was a brick about it, but he +thought I ought to make it up with the governor before Joan and I were +formally engaged. So I did--and I'm jolly glad of it. And now I want to +go down to Crailing, and fetch Joan, and take her with me to Abbotsleigh. +So I should want at least a week off." + +"Well, wait till Max comes back," advised Diana, "We shall know more +about the matter then. And--and--Jerry!" She stretched out her hand, +which immediately disappeared within Jerry's big, boyish fist. "Good +luck, old boy!" + + * * * * * * + +Max returned at about ten o'clock, and Diana proceeded to offer polite +inquiries about Miss de Gervais' welfare. She wondered if he would +remember how near they had been to each other just for an instant before +the news of the attempt upon Adrienne's life had reached them. + +But apparently he had forgotten all about it. His thoughts were entirely +concerned with Adrienne, and he was unusually grave and preoccupied. + +He ordered a servant to bring him some sandwiches and a glass of wine, +and when he and Diana were once more alone, be announced abruptly:-- + +"I shall have to leave home for a few days." + +"Leave home?" echoed Diana. + +"Yes. Adrienne must go out of town, and I'm going to run down to some +little country place and find rooms for her and Mrs. Adams." + +"Find rooms?" Diana stared at him amazedly. "But surely--won't they go +to Red Gables?" + +Max shook his head. + +"No. It wouldn't be safe after this--this affair. The same brute might +try to get her again. You see, it's quite well known that she has a +house at Crailing." + +"Who is it that is such an enemy of hers?" + +Max hesitated a moment. + +"It might very well be some former actor, some poor devil of a fellow +down on his luck, who has brooded over his fancied wrongs till he was +half-mad," he said, at length. + +Diana's eyes flashed. So that item of news intended for the morning +papers was also to be handed out for home consumption! + +"What steps are you taking to trace the man?" + +Again Max paused before replying. To Diana, his hesitation strengthened +her conviction that he was, as usual, withholding something from her. + +"Well?" she repeated. "What steps are you taking?" + +"None," he answered at last reluctantly. "Adrienne doesn't wish any fuss +made over the matter." + +And yet, Diana reflected, both her husband and Miss de Gervais knew quite +well who the assailant was! "The taller of the two," Adrienne had said +through the telephone. Why, then, with that clue in her hands, did she +refuse to prosecute? + +Suddenly, into Diana's mind flashed an answer to the question--to the +multitude of questions which had perplexed, her for so long. She felt as +a traveller may who has been journeying along an unknown way in the dark, +hurt and bruised by stones and pitfalls he could not see, when suddenly a +light shines out, revealing all the dangers of the path. + +The explanation of all those perplexities and suspicions of the past was +so simple, so obvious, that she marvelled why it had never occurred to +her before. Adrienne de Gervais was neither more or less than an +adventuress--one of the vampire type of woman who preys upon mankind, +drawing them into her net by her beauty and charm, even as she had drawn +Max himself! This, this supplied the key to the whole matter--all that +had gone before, and all that was now making such a mockery of her +married life. + +And the "poor devil of a fellow" who had attempted Adrienne's life had +probably figured largely in her past, one of her dupes, and now, +understanding at last what kind of woman it was for whom he had very +likely sacrificed all that made existence worth while, he was obsessed +with a crazy desire for vengeance--vengeance at any price. And Adrienne, +of course, in her extremity, had turned to her latest captive, Max +himself, for protection! + +Oh! it was all quite clear now! The scattered pieces of the puzzle were +fitting together and making a definite picture. + +Stray remarks of Olga Lermontof's came back to her--those little pointed +arrows wherewith the Russian had skilfully found out the joints in her +armour--"Miss de Gervais is not quite what she seems." And again, "I'm +perfectly sure Adrienne de Gervais' past is a closed book to you." Proof +positive that Olga had known all along what Diana had only just this +moment perceived to be the truth. + +Diana's small hands clenched themselves until the nails dug into the soft +palms, as she remembered how those same hands had been held out in +friendship to this very adventuress--to the woman who had wrecked her +happiness, and for whom Max was ready at any time to set her and her +wishes upon one side! What a blind, trusting fool she had been! Well, +that was all ended now; she knew where she stood. Never again would Max +or Adrienne be able to deceive her. The scales had at last fallen from +her eyes. + +"I'm sorry, Diana"--Max's cool, quiet tones broke in on the torment of +her thoughts. "I'm sorry, but I shall probably have to be away several +days." + +"Have you forgotten we're giving a big reception here next Wednesday?" + +"Wednesday, is it? And to-day is Saturday. I shall find rooms somewhere +to-morrow, and take Adrienne and Mrs. Adams down to them the next +day. . . No, I can't possibly be back for Wednesday." + +"But you must!"--impetuously. + +"It's impossible. I shall stay with Adrienne and Mrs. Adams until I'm +quite sure that the place is safe for them--that that fellow hasn't +traced them and isn't lurking about in the neighbourhood. You mustn't +expect me back before Saturday at the earliest. You and Jerry can manage +the reception. I hate those big crowds, as you know." + +For a moment Diana sat in stony silence. So he intended to leave her to +entertain half London--that half of London that mattered and would talk +about it--while he spent a pleasant week philandering down in the country +with Adrienne de Gervais, under the aegis of Mrs. Adams' chaperonage! + +Very slowly Diana rose to her feet. Her small face was white and set, +her little pointed chin thrust out, and her grey eyes were almost black +with the intense anger that gripped her. + +"Do you mean this?" she asked collectedly. + +"Why, of course. Don't you see that I must, Diana? I can't let Adrienne +run a risk like that." + +"But you can subject your wife to an insult like that without thinking +twice about it!"--contemptuously. "It hasn't occurred to you, I suppose, +what people will say when they find that I have been left entirely alone +to entertain our friends, while my husband passes a pleasant week in the +country with Miss de Gervais, and her--chaperon? It's an insult to our +guests as well as to me. But I quite understand. I, and my friends, +simply _don't count_ when Adrienne de Gervais wants you." + +"I can't help it," he answered stubbornly, her scorn moving him less than +the waves that break in a shower of foam at the foot of a cliff. "You +knew you would have to trust me." + +"_Trust you_?" cried Diana, shaken out of her composure. "Yes! But I +never promised to stand trustingly by while you put another woman in my +place. This is the end, Max. I've had enough." + +A sudden look of apprehension dawned in his eyes. + +"What do you mean?" he asked sharply. + +"What do I mean?"--bleakly. "Oh, nothing. I never do mean anything, do +I? . . . Well, good-bye. I expect you'll have left the house before I +come down to-morrow morning. I hope . . . you'll enjoy your visit to the +country." + +She waited a moment, as though expecting some reply; then, as he neither +stirred nor spoke, she went quickly out of the room, closing the door +behind her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE PARTING OF THE WAYS + +"Jerry"--Diana came into her husband's study, where his secretary, who +had nothing further to do until his employer's return, was pottering +about putting the bookshelves to rights, "Jerry, I'm going to give you a +holiday. You can go down to Crailing to-day." + +Jerry turned round in surprise. + +"But, I say, Diana, I can't, you know--not while Max is away. I'm +supposed to make myself useful to you." + +"Well, I think you did make yourself--very useful--last night, didn't +you?" + +"Oh, that!" Jerry shrugged his shoulders. Then, surveying her +critically, he added: "You look awfully tired this morning, Di!" + +She did. There were purple shadows beneath her eyes, and her face looked +white and drawn. The previous evening had been the occasion of her +reception, and she had carried it pluckily through single-handed. Quiet +and composed, she had moved about amongst her guests, covering Max's +absence with a light touch and pretty apology, her demeanour so natural +and unembarrassed that the tongues, which would otherwise have wagged +swiftly enough, were inevitably stilled. + +But the strain had told upon her. This morning she looked haggard and +ill, more fit to be in bed than anything else. + +"Oh, I shall be all right after a night's rest," she answered cheerfully. +"And as to making yourself useful there's really nothing I want you to do +for me. But I _do_ want you to go and make your peace with your father, +and take Joan to him. I'm sure he'll love her! So I'm writing to Max +telling him that I've given you leave of absence. He won't be returning +till Saturday at the earliest, and probably not then. If he wants you +back on Monday, we'll wire." + +Jerry hesitated. + +"Are you sure it will be quite all right? I don't really like leaving +you." + +"Quite all right," she assured him. "I _did_ want you for the party last +night, and you were the greatest possible help to me. But now, I don't +want you a bit for anything. If you're quick, you can catch the two +o'clock down express and"--twinkling--"see Joan this evening." + +"Diana, you're a brick!" And Jerry dashed upstairs to pack his suit-case. + +Diana heaved a sigh of relief when, a few hours later, a triumphant and +joyous Jerry departed in search of a bride. She wanted him out of the +house, for that which she had decided to do would be more easily +accomplished without the boy's honest, affectionate eyes beseeching her. + +All her arrangements were completed, and to-morrow--to-morrow she was +going to leave Lilac Lodge for ever. Never again would she share the +life of the man who had shown her clearly that, although she was his +wife, she counted with him so infinitely less than that other--than +Adrienne de Gervais. Her pride might break in the leaving, but it would +bend to living under the same roof with him no longer. + +Only one thing still remained--to write a letter to her husband and leave +it in his study for him to find upon his return. It savoured a little of +the theatrical, she reflected, but there seemed no other way possible. +She didn't want Max to come in search of her, so she must make it clear +to him that she was leaving him deliberately and with no intention of +ever returning. + +She had told the servants that she was going away on a few days' visit, +and after Jerry's departure she gave her maid instructions concerning her +packing. She intended to leave the house quite openly the following +morning. That was much the easiest method of running away. + +"Shall you require me with you, madam?" asked her maid respectfully. + +Diana regarded her thoughtfully. She was an excellent servant and +thoroughly understood maiding a professional singer; moreover, she was +much attached to her mistress. Probably she would be glad of her +services later on. + +"Oh, if I should make a long stay, I'll send for you, Milling, and you +can bring on the rest of my things. I shall want some of my concert +gowns the week after next," she told her, in casual tones. + +As soon as she had dismissed the girl to her work, Diana made her way +into her husband's study, and, seating herself at his desk, drew a sheet +of notepaper towards her. + +She began to write impulsively, as she did everything else:-- + + +"This is just to say good-bye,"--her pen flew over the paper--"I can't +bear our life together any longer, so I'm going away. Perhaps you will +blame me because my faith wasn't equal to the task you set it. But I +don't think any woman's would be--not if she cared at all. And I did +care, Max. It hurts to care as I did--and I'm so tired of being hurt +that I'm running away from it. It will be of no use your asking me to +return, because I have made up my mind never to come back to you again. +I told you that you must choose between Adrienne and me, and you've +chosen--Adrienne. I am going to live with Baroni and his sister, Signora +Evanci. It is all arranged. They are glad to have me, and it will be +much easier for me as regards my singing. So you needn't worry about +me.--But perhaps, you wouldn't have done! + +"DIANA. + +"P.S.--Please don't be vexed with Jerry for going away. I gave him leave +of absence myself, and I told him I would make it all right with you.--D." + +She folded the letter with a curious kind of precision, slipped it into +an envelope, sealed and addressed it, and propped it up against the +inkpot on her husband's desk, so that he could not fail to find it. + +Then, when it was time to dress for dinner, she went upstairs and let her +maid put her into an evening frock, exactly as though nothing out of the +ordinary were going on, just as though to-day--the last day she would +ever spend in her husband's home--were no different from any other day. + +She made a pretence of eating dinner, and afterwards sat in her own +little sitting-room, with a book in front of her, of which she read not a +single line. + +Presently, when she was quite sure that all the servants had gone to bed, +she made a pilgrimage through the house, moving reluctantly from room to +room, taking a silent farewell of the place where she had known such +happiness--and afterwards, such pain. + +At last she went to bed, but she felt too restless and keyed up to sleep, +so she slipped into a soft, silken wrapper and established herself in a +big easy-chair by the fire. + +The latter had died down into a dull, red glow, but she prodded the +embers into a flame, adding fresh coal, and as the pleasant warmth of it +lapped her round, a feeling of gentle languor gradually stole over her, +and at length she slept. . . . + +She woke with a start. Some one was trying the handle of the door--very +quietly, but yet not at all as though making any attempt to conceal the +fact. + +Something must be amiss, and one of the maids had come to warn her. The +possibility that the house was on fire, or that burglars had broken in, +flashed through her mind. + +She sprang to her feet, and switching on the light, called out sharply:-- + +"Who is it?" + +She had not fastened the lock overnight, and her heart beat in great +suffocating throbs as she watched the handle turn. + +The next moment some one came quickly into the room and closed the door. + +It was Max! + +Diana fell back a step, staring incredulously. + +"_You_!" she exclaimed, breathlessly. "_You_!" + +He advanced a few paces into the room. He was very pale, and his face +wore a curiously excited expression. His eyes were brilliant--fiercely +exultant, yet with an odd gleam of the old, familiar mockery in their +depths, as though something in the situation amused him. + +"Yes," he said. "Are you surprised to see me?" + +"You--you said you were not returning till Saturday," she stammered. + +"I found I could get away sooner than I expected, so I caught the last +up-train--and here I am." + +There was a rakish, devil-may-care note in his voice that filled her with +a vague apprehension. Summoning up her courage, she faced him, striving +to keep her voice steady. + +"And why--why have you come to me--now?" + +"I found your note--the note you had left on my desk, so I thought I +would like to say good-bye," he answered carelessly. + +"You could have waited till to-morrow morning," she returned coldly. +"You--you"--she stammered a little, and a faint flush tinged her +pallor--"you should not have come . . . here." + +A sudden light gleamed in his eyes, mocking and triumphant. + +"It is my wife's room. A husband"--slowly--"has certain rights." + +"Ah-h!" She caught her breath, and her hand flew her throat. + +"And since," he continued cruelly, never taking his eye from her face, +"since those rights are to be rescinded to-morrow for ever--why, then, +to-night--" + +"No! . . . No!" She shrank from him, her hands stretched out as though +to ward him off. + +"You've said 'no' to me for the last six months," he said grimly. +"But--that's ended now." + +Her eyes searched his face wildly, reading only a set determination in +it. Slowly, desperately, she backed away from him; then, suddenly, she +made a little rush, and, reaching the door, pulled at the handle. But it +remained fast shut. + +"_It's locked_!" she cried, frantically tugging at it. She flashed round +upon him. "The key! Where's the key?" + +The words came sobbingly. + +He put his fingers in his pocket. + +"Here," he answered coolly. + +Despairingly she retreated from the door. There was an expression in his +eyes that terrified her--a furnace heat of passion barely held in check. +The Englishman within him was in abeyance; the hot, foreign blood was +leaping in his veins. + +"Max!" she faltered appealingly. + +He crossed swiftly to her side, gripping her soft, bare arms in a hold so +fierce that his fingers scored them with red weals. + +"By God, Diana! What do you think I'm made of?" he burst out violently. +"For months you've shut yourself away from me and I've borne it, +waiting--waiting always for you to come back to me. Do you think it's +been easy?" His limbs were shaking, and his eyes burned into hers. "And +now--now you tell me that you've done with me. . . You take everything +from me! My love is to count for nothing!" + +"You never loved me!" she protested, with low, breathless vehemence. +"It--it could never have been love." + +For a moment he was silent, staring at her. + +Then he laughed. + +"Very well. Call it desire, passion--what you will!" he exclaimed +brutally. "But--you married me, you know!" + +She cowered away from him, looking to right and left like a trapped +animal seeking to escape, but he held her ruthlessly, forcing her to face +him. + +All at once, her nerve gave way, and she began to cry--helpless, +despairing weeping that rocked the slight form in his grasp. As she +stood thus, the soft silk of her wrapper falling in straight folds about +her; her loosened hair shadowing her white face, she looked pathetically +small and young, and Errington suddenly relinquished his hold of her and +stepped back, his hands slowly clenching in the effort not to take her in +his arms. + +Something tugged at his heart, pulling against the desire that ran riot +in his veins--something of the infinite tenderness of love which exists +side by side with its passion. + +"Don't look like that," he said hoarsely. "I'll--I'll go." + +He crossed the room, reeling a little in his stride, and, unlocking the +door, flung it open. + +She stared at him, incredulous relief in her face, while the tears still +slid unchecked down her cheeks. + +"Max--" she stammered. + +"Yes," he returned. "You're free of me. I don't suppose you'll believe +it, but I love you too much to . . . take . . . what you won't give." + +A minute later the door closed behind him and she heard his footsteps +descending the stairs. + +With a low moan she sank down beside the bed, her face hidden in her +hands, sobbing convulsively. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +PAIN + +Summer had come and gone, and Diana, after a brief visit to Crailing, +had returned to town for the winter season. + +The Crailing visit had not been altogether without its embarrassments. +It was true that Red Gables was closed and shuttered, so that she had +run no risk of meeting either her husband or Adrienne, but Jerry, in +the character of an engaged young man, had been staying at the Rectory, +and he had allowed Diana to see plainly that his sympathies lay +pre-eminently with Max, and that he utterly condemned her lack of faith +in her husband. + +"Some day, Diana, you'll be sorry that you chucked one of the best +chaps in the world," he told her, with a fierce young championship that +was rather touching, warring, as it did, with his honest affection for +Diana herself. "Oh! It makes me sick! You two ought to have had such +a splendid life together." + +Rather wistfully, Diana asked the Rector if he, too, blamed her +entirely for what had occurred. But Alan Stair's wide charity held no +room for censure. + +"My dear," he told her, "I don't think I want to _blame_ either you or +Max. The situation was difficult, and you weren't quite strong enough +to cope with it. That's all. But"--with one of his rare smiles that +flashed out like sunshine after rain--"you haven't reached the end of +the chapter yet." + +Diana shook her head. + +"I think we have, Pobs. I, for one, shall never reopen the pages. My +musical work is going to fill my life in future." + +Stair's eyes twinkled with a quiet humour. + +"Sponge cake is filling, my dear, very," he responded. "But it's not +satisfying--like bread." + + +Since Diana had left her husband, fate had so willed it that they had +never chanced to meet. She had appeared very little in society, +excusing herself on the plea that her professional engagements demanded +all her energies. And certainly, since the immediate and overwhelming +success which she had achieved at Covent Garden, her operatic work had +made immense demands both upon her time and physical strength. + +But, with the advent of autumn, the probabilities of a meeting between +husband and wife were increased a hundredfold, since Diana's +engagements included a considerable number of private receptions in +addition to her concert work, and she never sang at a big society crush +without an inward apprehension that she might encounter Max amongst the +guests. + +She shrank from meeting him again as a wounded man shrinks from an +accidental touch upon his hurt. It had been easy enough, in the first +intolerant passion which had overwhelmed her, to contemplate life apart +from him. Indeed, to leave him had seemed the only obvious course to +save her from the daily flagellation of her love, the hourly insult to +her dignity, that his relations with Adrienne de Gervais and the whole +mystery which hung about his actions had engendered. + +But when once the cord had been cut, and life in its actuality had to +be faced apart from him, Diana found that love, hurt and buffeted +though it may be, still remains love, a thing of flame and fire, its +very essence a desire for the loved one's presence. + +Every fibre of her being cried aloud for Max, and there were times when +the longing for the warm, human touch of his hand, for the sound of his +voice, grew almost unbearable. Yet any meeting between them could be +but a barren reminder of the past, revitalising the dull ache of +longing into a quick and overmastering agony, and, realising this, +Diana recoiled from the possibility with a fear almost bordering upon +panic. + +She achieved a certain feeling of security in the fact that she had +made her home with Baroni and his sister. Signora Evanci mothered her +and petted her and fussed over her, much as she did over Baroni +himself, and the old _maestro_, aware of the tangle of Diana's +matrimonial affairs, and ambitious for her artistic future, was likely +to do his utmost to avert a meeting between husband and wife--since +emotional crises are apt to impair the voice. + +From Baroni's point of view, the happenings of life were chiefly of +importance in so far as they tended towards the perfecting of the +artiste. + +"Love is good," he had said on one occasion. "No one can interpret +romantic music who has not loved. And a broken heart in the past, and +plenty of good food in the present--these may very well make a great +artiste. But a heart that _keeps on_ breaking, that is not permitted +to heal itself--no, that is not good. _A la fin_, the voice breaks +also." + +Hence he regarded his favourite pupil with considerable anxiety. To +his experienced eye it was palpable that the happenings of her married +life had tried Diana's strength almost to breaking point, and that the +enthusiasm and energy with which, seeking an anodyne to pain, she had +flung herself into her work, would act either one way or the +other--would either finish the job, so that the frayed nerves gave way, +culminating in a serious breakdown of her health, or so fill her +horizon that the memories of the past gradually receded into +insignificance. + +The cup of fame, newly held to her lips, could not but prove an +intoxicating draught. There was a rushing excitement, an exhilaration +about her life as a well-known public singer, which acted as a constant +stimulus. The enthusiastic acclamations with which she was everywhere +received, the adulation that invariably surrounded her, and the intense +joy which, as a genuine artist, she derived from the work itself, all +acted as a narcotic to the pain of memory, and out of these she tried +to build up a new life for herself, a life in which love should have +neither part nor lot, but wherein added fame and recognition was to be +the ultimate goal. + +Her singing had improved; there was a new depth of feeling in her +interpretation which her own pain and suffering had taught her, and it +was no infrequent thing for part of her audience to be moved to tears, +wistfully reminded of some long-dead romance, when she sang "The Haven +of Memory"--a song which came to be associated with her name much in +the same way that "Home, Sweet Home" was associated with another great +singer, whose golden voice gave new meaning to the familiar words. + +Olga Lermontof still remained her accompanist. For some unfathomed +reason she no longer flung out the bitter gibes and thrusts at +Errington which had formerly sprung so readily to her lips, and Diana +grimly ascribed this forbearance to an odd kind of delicacy--the +generosity of the victor who refuses to triumph openly over the +vanquished! + +Once, in a bitter mood, Diana had taxed her with it. + +"You must feel satisfied now that you have achieved your object," she +told her. + +The Russian, idly improvising on the piano, dropped her hands from the +keys, and her eyes held a queer kind of pain in them as she made answer. + +"And what exactly did you think my object was?" she queried. + +"Surely it was obvious?" replied Diana lightly. "When Max and I were +together, you never ceased to sow discord between us--though why you +hated him so, I cannot tell--and now that we have separated, I suppose +you are content." + +"Content?" Olga laughed shortly. "I never wanted you to separate. +And"--she hesitated--"I never hated Max Errington." + +"I don't believe it!" The assertion leaped involuntarily from Diana's +lips. + +"I can understand that," Olga spoke with a curious kind of patience. +"But, believe it or not as you will, I was working for quite other +ends. And I've failed," she added dispiritedly. + +With the opening of the autumn season and the ensuing rebirth of +musical and theatrical life, London received an unexpected shock. It +was announced that Adrienne de Gervais was retiring from her position +as leading lady at the Premier Theatre, and for a few days after the +launching of this thunderbolt the theatre-going world hummed with the +startling news, while a dozen rumours were set on foot to account for +what must surely prove little less than a disaster to the management of +the Premier. + +But, as usual, after the first buzz of surprise and excitement had +spent itself, people settled down, and reluctantly accepted the +official explanation furnished by the newspapers--namely, that the +popular actress had suffered considerably in health from the strain of +several successive heavy seasons and intended to winter abroad. + +To Diana the news yielded an odd sense of comfort. Somehow the thought +of Adrienne's absence from England seemed to bring Max nearer, to make +him more her own again. Even though they were separated, there was a +certain consolation in the knowledge that the woman whose close +friendship with her husband had helped to make shipwreck of their +happiness was going out of his life, though it might be only for a +little time. + +One day, impelled by an irresistible desire to test the truth of the +newspaper reports, Diana took her way to Somervell Street, pausing +opposite the house that had been Adrienne's. She found it invested +with a curious air of unfamiliarity, facing the street with blank and +shuttered windows, like blind eyes staring back at her unrecognisingly. + +So it was true! Adrienne had gone away and the house was empty and +closed. + +Diana retraced her steps homeward, conscious of a queer feeling of +satisfaction. Often the thought that Max and Adrienne might be +together had tortured her almost beyond endurance, adding a keener edge +to the pain of separation. + +Pain! Life seemed made up of pain these days. Sometimes she wondered +how much a single human being was capable of bearing. + +It was months--an eternity--since she and Max had parted, and still her +heart cried out for him, fighting the bitter anger and distrust that +had driven her from him. + +She felt she could have borne it more easily had he died. Then the +remembrance of his love would still have been hers to hold and keep, +something most precious and unspoilt. But now, each memory of their +life together was tarnished with doubt and suspicion and mistrust. She +had put him to the test, bade him choose betwixt her and Adrienne, +claiming his confidence as her right--and he had chosen Adrienne and +declined to trust her with his secret. + +She told herself that had he loved her, he must have yielded. No man +who cared could have refused her, and the scourge of wounded pride +drove her into that outer darkness where bitterness and "proper +self-respect" defile the face of Love. + +She had turned desperately to her work for distraction from the +ceaseless torture of her thoughts, but not all the work in the world +had been able to silence the cry of her heart. + +For work can do no more than fill the day, and though Diana feverishly +crammed each day so full that there was little time to think and +remember, the nights remained--the interminable nights, when she was +alone with her own soul, and when the memories which the day's work had +beaten back came pressing in upon her. + +Oh, God! The nights--the endless, intolerable nights! . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE VISION OF LOVE + +A week after her visit to Somervell Street, the thing which Diana had +dreaded came to pass. + +She was attending a reception at the French Embassy, and as she made +her way through the crowded rooms, followed by Olga Lermontof--who +frequently added to the duties of accompanist those of _dame de +compagnie_ to the great _prima donna_--she came suddenly face to face +with Max. + +To many of us the anticipation of an unpleasant happening is far more +agonising than the actual thing itself. The mind, brooding +apprehensively upon what may conceivably occur, exaggerates the +possibilities of the situation, enhancing all the disagreeable details, +and oblivious of any mitigating circumstances which may, quite +probably, accompany it. There is sound sense and infinite comfort, if +you look for it, in the old saying which bids us not to cross our +bridges till we come to them. + +The fear of the unknown, the unexperienced, is a more haunting, +insidious fear than any other, and sometimes one positively longs to +hasten the advent of an unwelcome ordeal, in order that the worst may +be known and the menace of the future be transformed into a memory of +the past. + +So it was with Diana. She had been for so long beset by her fear of +the first meeting that she experienced a sensation almost of relief +when her eyes fell at last upon the tall figure of her husband. + +He was deep in conversation with the French Ambassador at the moment, +but as Diana approached it was as though some sensitive, invisible live +wire had vibrated, apprising him of her nearness, and he looked up +suddenly, his blue eyes gazing straight into hers. + +To Diana, the brief encounter proved amazingly simple and easy in +contrast with the shrinking apprehensions she had formed. A slight bow +from her, its grave return from him, and the dreaded moment was past. + +It was only afterwards that she realised, with a sense of sick dismay, +how terribly he had altered. She caught at the accompanist's arm with +nervous force. + +"Olga!" she whispered. "Did you see?" + +The Russian's expression answered her. Her face wore a curious stunned +look, and her mouth twitched as she tried to control the sudden +trembling of her lips. + +"Come outside--on to this balcony." Olga spoke with a fierce +imperativeness as she saw Diana sway uncertainly and her face whiten. + +Once outside in the cool shelter of the balcony, dimly lit by swaying +Chinese lanterns, Diana sank into a chair, shaken and unnerved. For an +instant her eyes strayed back to where, through the open French window, +she could see Max still conversing with the Ambassador, but she averted +them swiftly. + +The change in him hurt her like the sudden stab of a knife. His face +was worn and lined; there was something ascetic-looking in the hollowed +line from cheek-bone to chin and in the stern, austere closing of the +lips, while the eyes--the mocking blue eyes with the laughter always +lurking at the back of them--held an expression of deep, unalterable +sadness. + +"Olga!" The word broke from Diana's white lips like a cry of appeal, +tremulous and uncertain. + +But Miss Lermontof made no response. She seemed quite unmoved by the +distress of the woman sitting huddled in the chair before her, and her +light green eyes shone with a curious savage glint like the eyes of a +cat. + +Diana spoke again nervously. + +"Are you--angry with me?" + +"Angry!" The Russian almost spat out the word. "Angry! Don't you see +what you're doing?" + +"What I'm doing?" repeated Diana. "What am I doing?" + +Olga replied with a grim incisiveness. + +"You're killing Max--that's all. This--this is going to break +him--break him utterly." + +There was a long silence, and the dewy dusk of the night, shaken into +pearly mist where the flickering light of the Chinese lanterns +illumined it, seemed to close round the two women, like a filmy +curtain, shutting them off from the chattering throng in the adjoining +room. + +Presently a cart rattled past in the street below, rasping the tense +silence. + +Diana lifted her head. + +"I didn't know!" she said helplessly. "I didn't know! . . ." + +"And yet you professed to love him!" Olga spoke consideringly, an +element of contemptuous wonder in her voice. + +The memory of words that Max had uttered long ago stirred in Diana's +mind. + +"_You don't know what love means!_" + +Limned against the darkness she could see once more the sun-warmed +beach at Culver Point, the blue, sparkling sea with the white gulls +wheeling above it, and Max--Max standing tall and straight beside her, +with a shaft of sunlight flickering across his hair, and love +illimitable in his eyes. + +"You don't know what love means!" + +The words penetrated to her innermost consciousness, cleaving their way +sheer through the fog of doubt and mistrust and pride as the sharp +blade of the surgeon's knife cuts deep into a festering wound. And +before their clarifying, essential truth, Diana's soul recoiled in dumb +dismay. + +No, she hadn't known what love meant--love, which, with an exquisite +unreasonableness, believes when there is ground for doubt--hadn't +understood it as even this cynical, bitter-tongued Russian understood +it. And she recognised the scorn on Olga's white, contemptuous face as +the unlovely sheath of an ideal of love immeasurably beyond her own +achieving. + +The vision of Culver Point faded away, and an impalpable wall of +darkness seemed to close about her. Dimly, as though it were some one +else's voice speaking, she heard herself say slowly:-- + +"I thought I loved him." Then, after a pause, "Will you go? Please +go. I should like to be . . . quiet . . . a little while." + +For a moment Olga gazed down at her, eagerly, almost hungrily, as +though silently beseeching her. Then, still silently, she went away. + +Diana sat very still. Above her, the gay-coloured Chinese lanterns +swayed to and fro in the little breeze that drifted up the street, and +above again, far off in the sombre sky, the stars looked +down--pitiless, unmoved, as they have looked down through all the ages +upon the pigmy joys and sufferings of humanity. + +For the first time Diana was awake to the limitations she had set to +love. + +The meeting with her husband had shaken her to the very foundations of +her being, the shock of his changed appearance sweeping away at a +single blow the whole fabric of artificial happiness that she had been +trying to build up. + +She had thought that the wound in her heart would heal, that she could +teach herself to forget the past. And lo! At the first sight of his +face the old love and longing had reawakened with a strength she was +powerless to withstand. + +The old love, but changed into something immeasurably more than it had +ever been before, and holding in its depths a finer understanding. And +with this clearer vision came a sudden new knowledge--a knowledge +fraught with pain and yet bearing deep within it an unutterable sense +of joy. + +Max had cared all the time--cared still! It was written in the lines +of suffering on his face, in the quiet endurance of the close-shut +mouth. Despite the bitter, pitiful misunderstandings of their married +life, despite his inexplicable friendship for Adrienne, despite all +that had gone before, Diana was sure, in the light of this larger +understanding which had come to her, that through it all he had loved +her. With an absolute certainty of conviction, she knew that it was +her hand which had graved those fresh lines about his mouth, brought +that look of calm sadness to his eyes, and the realisation held a +strange mingling of exquisite joy and keen anguish. + +She hid her face in her hands, hid it from the stars and the shrouding +dark, tremulously abashed at the wonderful significance of love. + +She almost laughed to think how she had allowed so small a thing as the +secret which Max could not tell her to corrode and eat into the heart +of happiness. Looking back from the standpoint she had now gained, it +seemed so pitifully mean and paltry, a profanation of the whole inner, +hidden meaning of love. + +So long as she and Max cared for each other, nothing else mattered, +nothing in the whole world. And the long battle between love and +pride--between love, that had turned her days and nights into one +endless ache of longing to return to Max, and pride, that had barred +the way inflexibly--was over, done with. + +Love had won, hands down. She would go back to Max, and all thought +that it might be weak-minded of her, humiliating to her self-respect, +was swept aside. Love, the great teacher, had brought her through the +dark places where the lesser gods hold sway, out into the light of day, +and she knew that to return to Max, to give herself afresh to him, +would be the veritable triumph, of love itself. + +She would go back, back to the shelter of his love which had been +waiting for her all the time, unswerving and unreproaching. She had +read it in his eyes when they had met her own an hour ago. + +"I want you---body and soul I want you!" he had told her there by the +cliffs at Culver. + +And she had not given him all her soul. She had kept back that supreme +belief in the beloved which is an integral part of love. But now, now +she would go to him and give with both hands royally--faith and trust, +blindly, as love demanded. + +She smiled a little. Happiness and the haven of Max's arms seemed very +near her just then. + + +She was very silent as she and Olga Lermontof drove home together from +the Embassy, but just at the last, when the limousine stopped at +Baroni's house, she leaned closer to Olga in the semi-darkness, and +whispered a little breathlessly:-- + +"I'm going back to him, Olga." + +Somehow the mere putting of it into words seemed to give it substance, +convert it into an actual fact that could be talked about, just like +the weather, or one's favourite play, or any other commonplace matter +which can be spoken of because it has a knowledgeable existence. And +the Russian's quick "Thank God!" set the seal of assuredness upon it. + +"Yes--thank God," answered Diana simply. + +The car, which was to take the accompanist on to Brutton Square, +slipped away down the lamp-lit street, and Diana fled upstairs to her +room. + +She must be alone--alone with her thoughts. She no longer dreaded the +night and its quiet solitude. It was a solitude pervaded by a deep, +abiding peace, the anteroom of happiness. + +To-morrow she would go to Max, and tell him that love had taught her +belief and faith--all that he had asked of her and that she had so +failed to give. + +She lay long awake, gazing into the dark, dreamily conscious of utter +peace and calm. To-morrow . . . to-morrow . . . Freely her eyes +closed and she slept. Once she stirred and smiled a little in her +sleep while the word "Max" fluttered from between her lips, almost as +though it had been a prayer. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +BREAKING-POINT + +When Diana woke the following morning it was to a drowsy sense of utter +peace and content. She wondered vaguely what had given rise to it. +Usually, when she came back to the waking world, it was with a shrinking +almost akin to terror that a new day had begun and must be lived +through--twelve empty, meaningless hours of it. + +As full consciousness returned, the remembrance of yesterday's meeting +with Max, and of all that had succeeded it, flashed into her mind like a +sudden ray of sunlight, and she realised that what had tinged her +thoughts with rose-colour was the quiet happiness, bred of her +determination to return to her husband, which had lain stored at the back +of her brain during the hours of unconsciousness. + +She sat up in bed, vividly, joyously awake, just as her maid came in with +her breakfast tray. + +"Make haste, Milling," she exclaimed, a thrill of eager excitement in her +voice. "It's a lovely morning, and there's so much going to happen +to-day that I can't waste any time over breakfast." + +It was the old, impetuous Diana who spoke, impulsively carried away by +the emotion of the moment. + +"Is there, madam?" Milling, arranging the breakfast things on a little +table beside the bed, regarded her mistress affectionately. It was long, +very long, since she had seen her with that look of happy anticipation in +her face--never since the good days at Lilac Lodge, before she had +quarrelled so irrevocably with her husband--and the maid wondered whether +it foretokened a reconciliation. "Is there, madam? Then I'm glad it's a +fine day. It's a good omen." + +Diana smiled at her. + +"Yes," she repeated contentedly. "It's a good omen." + +Milling paused on her way out of the room. + +"If you please, madam, Signor Baroni would like to know at what time you +will be ready to rehearse your songs for to-night, so that he can +telephone through to Miss Lermontof?" + +To rehearse! Diana's face clouded suddenly. She had entirely forgotten +that she had promised to give her services that night at a reception, +organised in aid of some charity by the Duchess of Linfield--the shrewish +old woman who had paid Diana her first tribute of tears--and the +recollection of it sounded the knell to her hopes of seeing Max that day. +The morning must perforce be devoted to practising, the afternoon to the +necessary rest which Baroni insisted upon, and after that there would be +only time to dress and partake of a light meal before she drove to the +Duchess's house. + +It would not be possible to see Max! Even had there been time she dared +not risk the probable consequences to her voice which the strain and +emotion of such an interview must necessarily carry in their train. + +For a moment she felt tempted to break her engagement, to throw it over +at the last instant and telephone to the Duchess to find a substitute. +And then her sense of duty to her public--to the big, warm-hearted public +who had always welcomed and supported her--pushed itself to the fore, +forbidding her to take this way out of the difficulty. + +How could she, who had never yet broken a contract when her appearance +involved a big fee, fail now, on an occasion when she had consented to +give her services, and when it was her name alone on the programme which +had charmed so much money from the pockets of the wealthy, that not a +single seat of all that could be crowded into the Duchess's rooms +remained unsold? Oh, it was impossible! + +Had it meant the renouncing of the biggest fee ever offered her, Diana, +would have impetuously sacrificed it and flung her patrons overboard. +But it meant something more than that. It was a debt of honour, her +professional honour. + +After all, the fulfilment of her promise to sing would only mean setting +her own affairs aside for twenty-four hours, and somehow she felt that +Max would understand and approve. He would never wish to snatch a few +earlier hours of happiness if they must needs be purchased at the price +of a broken promise. But her heart sank as she faced the only +alternative. + +She turned to Milling, the happy exultation that had lit her eyes +suddenly quenched. + +"Ask the _Maestro_ kindly to 'phone Miss Lermontof that I shall be ready +at eleven," she said quietly. + +In some curious way this unlooked-for upset to her plans seemed to have +cast a shadow across her path. The warm surety of coming happiness which +had lapped her round receded, and a vague, indefinable apprehension +invaded her consciousness. It was as though she sensed something +sinister that lay in wait for her round the next corner, and all her +efforts to recapture the radiant exultation of her mood of yestereve, to +shake off the nervous dread that had laid hold of her, failed miserably. + +Her breakfast was standing untouched on the table beside her bed. She +regarded it distastefully. Then, recalling with a wry smile Baroni's +dictum that "good food, and plenty of good food, means voice," she +reluctantly began to eat, idly turning over the while the pages of one of +the newspapers which Milling had placed beside the breakfast tray. It +was an illustrated weekly, and numbered amongst its staff an enterprising +young journalist, possessed of an absolute genius for nosing out such +matters as the principal people concerned in them particularly desired +kept secret. Those the enterprising young journalist's paper served up +piping-hot in their _Tattle of the Town_ column--a column denounced by +the pilloried few and devoured with eager interest by the rest of the +world. + +Diana, sipping her coffee, turned to it half-heartedly, hoping to find +some odd bit of news that might serve to distract her thoughts. + +There were the usual sly hits at several well-known society women whose +public charities covered a multitude of private sins, followed by a very +inadequately veiled reference to the chief actors in a recent divorce +case, and then-- + +Diana's eyes glued themselves to the printed page before her. Very +deliberately she set down her cup on the tray beside her, and taking up +the paper again, re-read the paragraph which had so suddenly riveted her +attention. It ran as follows:-- + + +"Is it true that the _nom de plume_ of a dramatist, well-known in London +circles, masks the identity of the son of a certain romantic royal duke +who contracted a morganatic marriage with one of the most beautiful +Englishwomen of the seventies? + +"It would be curious if there proved to be a connecting link between this +whisper and the recent disappearance from the stage of the popular +actress who has been so closely associated with the plays emanating from +the gifted pen of that same dramatist. + +"Interested readers should carefully watch forthcoming events in the +little state of Ruvania." + + +Diana stared at the newspaper incredulously, and a half-stifled +exclamation broke from her. + +There was--there _could_ be--no possible doubt to whom the paragraph bore +reference. "_A well-known dramatist and the popular actress so closely +associated with his works_"--why, to any one with the most superficial +knowledge of plays and players of the moment, it was as obvious as though +the names had been written in capitals. + +Max and Adrienne! Their identities linked together and woven into a +fresh tissue of mystery and innuendo! + +Diana smiled a little at the suggestion that Max might be the son of a +royal duke. It was so very far-fetched--fantastic in the extreme. + +And then, all at once, she remembered Olga's significant query of long +ago: "_Have you ever asked him who he is?_" and Max's stern refusal to +answer the question when she had put it to him. + +At the time it had only given an additional twist to the threads of the +intolerable web of mystery which had enmeshed her married life. But now +it suddenly blazed out like a beacon illumining the dark places. +Supposing it were true--supposing Max _had_ been masquerading under +another name all the time--then this suggestive little paragraph +contained a clue from which she might perhaps unravel the whole hateful +mystery. + +Her brows drew together as she puzzled over the matter. This history of +a morganatic marriage--it held a faint ring of familiarity. Vaguely she +recollected having heard the story of some royal duke who had married an +Englishwoman many years ago. + +For a few minutes she racked her brain, unable to place the incident. +Then, her eyes falling absently upon the newspaper once more, the last +word of the paragraph suddenly unlocked the rusty door of memory. + +_Ruvania_! She remembered the story now! There had once been a younger +brother and heir of a reigning grand-duke of Ruvania who had fallen so +headlong in love with a beautiful Englishwoman that he had renounced his +royal state and his claims to the grand ducal throne, and had married the +lady of his choice, thereafter living the life of a simple country +gentleman. + +The affair had taken place a good many years prior to Diana's entry into +life, but at the time it had made such a romantic appeal to the +sentimental heart of the world at large that it had never been quite +forgotten, and had been retold in Diana's hearing on more than one +occasion. + +Indeed, she recollected having once seen a newspaper containing an early +portrait of a family group composed of Duke Boris and his morganatic wife +and children. There had been two of the latter, a boy and a girl, and +Diana suddenly realised, with an irrepressible little flutter of tender +excitement, that if the fantastic story hinted at in _Tattle of the +Town_, were true, then the boy whom, years ago, she had seen pictured in +the photograph must have been actually Max himself. + +And--again if it were true--how naturally and easily it explained that +little unconscious air of hauteur and authority that she had so often +observed in him--the "lordly" air upon which she had laughingly remarked +to Pobs, when describing the man who had been her companion on that +memorable railway journey, when death had drawn very near them both and +then had passed them by. + +Her thoughts raced onward, envisaging the possibilities involved. + +There were no dukes of Ruvania now; that she knew. The little State, +close on the borders of Russia, had been--like so many of the smaller +Eastern States--convulsed by a revolution, some ten years ago, and since +then had been governed by a republic. + +Was the explanation of all that had so mystified her to be found in the +fact that Max was a political exile? + +The _Tattle of the Town_ paragraph practically suggested, that the +affairs of the "well-known dramatist" were in some way bound up with the +destiny of Ruvania. That was indicated plainly enough in the reference +to "forthcoming events." + +Diana's head whirled with the throng of confused ideas that poured in +upon her. + +And Adrienne de Gervais? What part did she play in this strange medley? +_Tattle of the Town_ assigned her one. Max and Adrienne and Ruvania were +all inextricably tangled up together in the thought-provoking paragraph. + +Suddenly, Diana's heart gave a great leap as a possible explanation of +the whole matter sprang into her mind. There had been two children of +the morganatic marriage, a son and a daughter. Was it conceivable that +Adrienne de Gervais was the daughter? + +Adrienne, Max's sister! That would account for his inexplicably close +friendship with her, his devotion to her welfare, and--if she, like +himself, were exiled--the secrecy which he had maintained. + +Slowly the conviction that this was the true explanation of all that had +caused her such bitter heartburning in the unhappy past grew and deepened +in Diana's mind. A chill feeling of dismay crept about her heart. If it +were true, then how hideously--how _unforgivably_--she had misjudged her +husband! + +She drew a sharp, agonised breath, her shaking fingers gripping the +bedclothes like a frightened child's. + +"Oh, not that! Don't let it be that!" she whispered piteously. + +She looked round the room with scared eyes. Who could help her--tell her +the truth--set at rest this new fear which had assailed her? There must +be some one . . . some one. . . . Yes, there was Olga! _She_ knew--had +known Max's secret all along. But would she speak? Would she reveal the +truth? Something--heaven knew what!--had kept her silent hitherto, save +for the utterance of those maddening taunts and innuendoes which had so +often lodged in Diana's heart and festered there. + +Feverishly Diana sprang out of bed and began to dress, flinging on her +clothes in a very frenzy of haste. She would see Olga, and beg, pray, +beseech her, if necessary, to tell her all she knew. + +If she failed, if the Russian woman obstinately denied her, she would +know no peace of mind--no rest. She felt she had reached +breaking-point--she could endure no more. + +But she would not fail. When Olga came--and she would be here soon, very +soon now--she would play up the knowledge she had gleaned from the +newspaper for all it was worth, and she would force the truth from her, +willing or unwilling. + +Whether that truth spelt heaven, or the utter, final wrecking of all her +life, she must know it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE REAPING + +Half an hour later Diana descended to the big music-room, where she +usually rehearsed, to find Olga Lermontof already awaiting her there. + +By a sheer effort of will she had fought down the storm of emotion which +had threatened to overwhelm her, and now, as she greeted her accompanist, +she was quite cool and composed, though rather pale and with tired +shadows beneath her eyes. + +There was something almost unnatural in her calm, and the shrewd Russian +eyed her with a sudden apprehension. This was not the same woman whom +she had left last night, thrilling and softly tremulous with love. + +She began speaking quickly, an undercurrent of suppressed excitement in +her tones. + +"There's some mistake, isn't there? You don't want me--this morning?" + +Diana regarded her composedly. + +"Certainly I want you--to rehearse for to-night." + +"To rehearse? Rehearse?" Olga's voice rose in a sharp crescendo of +amazement. "Surely"--bending forward to peer into Diana's face--"surely +you are not going to keep Max waiting while you--_rehearse_?" + +"It's impossible for us to meet to-day," replied Diana steadily. "I +had--forgotten--the Duchess's reception." + +Olga made a gesture of impatience. + +"But you must meet to-day," she said imperiously. "You _must_! +To-morrow it will be too late." + +"Too late? How too late?" + +Miss Lermontof hesitated a moment. Then she said quietly:-- + +"I happen to know that Max is leaving England to-night." + +Diana shrugged her shoulders. + +"Well, he will come back, I suppose." + +The other looked at her curiously. + +"Diana, what has come to you? You are so--changed--since last night." + +"We're told that 'night unto night showeth knowledge,'" retorted Diana +bitterly. "Perhaps _my_ knowledge has increased since--last night." She +watched the puzzled expression deepen on Olga's face. Then she added: +"So I can afford to wait a little longer to see Max." + +Again Miss Lermontof hesitated. Then, as though impelled to speak +despite her better judgment, she burst out impetuously:-- + +"But you can't! You can't wait. He isn't coming back again." + +There was a queer tense note in Diana's voice as she played her first big +card. + +"Then I suppose I shall have to follow him to--Ruvania," she said very +quietly. + +"To Ruvania?" Olga repeated, and by the sudden narrowing of her eyes, as +though she were all at once "on guard," Diana knew that her shot in the +dark had gone home. "What do you mean? Why--Ruvania?" + +Diana faced her squarely. Despite her feverish desire to wring the truth +from the other woman, she had herself well in hand, and when she spoke it +was with a certain dignity. + +"Don't you think that the time for pretence and hypocrisy has gone by? +_You_ know--all that I ought to know. Now that even the newspapers are +aware of Max's--and Adrienne's--connection with Ruvania, do you still +think it necessary that I, his wife, should be kept in the dark?" + +"The newspapers?" Olga spoke with sudden excitement. "How much do they +know? What do they say? . . . After all, though," she added more +quietly, "it doesn't much matter--now. Everything is settled--for good +or ill. But if the papers had got hold of it sooner--" + +"Well?" queried Diana coolly, intent on driving her into giving up her +knowledge. "What if they had?" + +Olga surveyed her ironically. + +"What if they had? Only that, if they had, probably you wouldn't have +possessed a husband a few hours later. A knife in the back is a quick +road out of life, you know." + +Diana caught her breath, and her self-command gave way suddenly. + +"For God's sake, what do you mean? Tell me--you must tell +me--everything, everything! I can't bear it any longer. I know too +much--" She broke off with a dry, choking sob. + +Olga's face softened. + +"You poor child!" she muttered to herself. Then, aloud, she said gently: +"Tell me--how much do you know?" + +With an effort Diana mastered herself again. + +"I know Max's parentage," she began steadily. + +"You know that?"--with quick surprise. + +"Yes. And that he has a sister." + +Olga nodded, smiling rather oddly. + +"Yes. He has a sister," she admitted. + +"And that he is involved in Ruvanian politics. Something is going to +happen there, in Ruvania--" + +"Yes to that also. Something is going to happen there. The republic is +down and out, and the last of the Mazaroffs is going to receive back the +ducal crown." There was a tinge of mockery in Miss Lermontof's curt +tones. + +Diana gave a cry of dismay. + +"Not--not Max?" she stammered. All at once, he seemed to have receded +very far away from her, to have been snatched into a world whither she +would never be able to follow him. + +"Max?" Olga's face darkened. "No--not Max, but Nadine Mazaroff." + +"Nadine Mazaroff?" repeated Diana uncomprehendingly. "Who is Nadine +Mazaroff?" + +"She is the woman you knew as Adrienne de Gervais." + +"Adrienne? Is that her name--Nadine Mazaroff? Then--then"--Diana's +breath came unevenly--"she's not Max's sister?" + +"No"--shortly. "She is--or will be within a week--the Grand Duchess of +Ruvania." + +"Go on," urged Diana, as the other paused. "Go on. Tell me everything. +I know so much already that it can't be breaking faith with any one for +you to tell me the whole truth now." + +Olga looked at her consideringly. + +"No. I suppose, since the journalists have ferreted it out, it won't be +a secret much longer," she conceded grimly. "And, in any case, it +doesn't matter now. It's all settled." She sighed. "Besides"--with a +faint smile--"if I tell you, it will save Max a long story when you meet." + +"Yes," replied Diana, an odd expression flitting across her face. "It +will save Max a long story--when we meet. Tell me," she continued, with +an effort, "tell me about--Nadine Mazaroff." + +"Nadine?" cried Olga, with sudden violence. "Nadine Mazaroff is the +woman I hate more than any other on this earth!" Her eyes gleamed +malevolently. "She stands where Max should stand. If it were not for +her the Ruvanian people would have accepted him as their ruler--and +overlooked his English mother. But Nadine is the legitimate heir, the +child of the late Grand Duke--and Max is thrust out of the succession, +because our father's marriage was a morganatic one." + +"_Your_ father?" + +"Yes"--with a brief smile--"I am the sister whose existence you +discovered." + +For a moment Diana was silent. It had never occurred to her to connect +Max and Olga in any way; the latter had always seemed to her to be more +or less at open enmity with him. + +Immediately her heart contracted with the old haunting fear. What, then, +was Adrienne to Max? + +"Go on," she whispered at last, under her breath. "Go on." + +"I've never forgiven my father"--Olga spoke with increasing passion. +"For his happiness with his English wife, Max and I have paid every day +of our lives! . . . As soon as I was of age, I refused the State +allowance granted me as a daughter of Boris Mazaroff, and left the +Ruvanian Court. Since then I've lived in England as plain Miss +Lermontof, and earned my own living. Not one penny of their tainted +money will I touch!"--fiercely. + +"But Max--Max!" broke in Diana. "Tell me about Max!" Olga's personal +quarrel with her country held no interest for a woman on the rack. + +"Max?" Olga shrugged her shoulders. "Max is either a saint or a +fool--God knows which! For his loyalty to the House that branded him +with a stigma, and to the woman who robbed him of his heritage, has never +failed." + +"You mean--Adrienne?" whispered Diana, as Olga paused an instant, shaken +by emotion. + +"Yes, I mean Adrienne--Nadine Mazaroff. Her parents were killed in the +Ruvanian revolution--butchered by the mob on the very steps of the +palace. But she herself was saved by my brother. At the time the revolt +broke out, he was living in Borovnitz, the capital, and he rushed off to +the palace and contrived to rescue Nadine and get her away to England. +Since then, while the Royalist party have been working day and night for +the restoration of the Mazaroffs, Max has watched over her safety." She +paused, resuming with an accent of jealous resentment: "And it has been +no easy task. German money backed the revolution, in the hope that when +Ruvania grew tired of her penny-farthing republic--as she was bound to +do--Germany might step in again and convert Ruvania into a little +dependent State under Prussia. There's always a German princeling handy +for any vacant throne!"--contemptuously--"and in the event of a big +European War, Ruvania in German hands would provide an easy entrance into +Russia. So you see, Nadine, alive and in safety, was a perpetual menace +to the German plans. For some years she was hidden in a convent down in +the West Country, not very far from Crailing, and after a while people +came to believe that she, too, had perished in the revolution. It was +only then that Max allowed her to emerge from the convent, and by that +time she had grown from a young, unformed girl into a woman, so that +there was little danger of her being recognised by any casual +observer--or even by the agents of the anti-royalist party." + +"Max seems to have done--a great deal--for her," said Diana, speaking +slowly and rather painfully. + +Olga flashed her a brief look of understanding. + +"Yes," she said quietly. "He has done everything that patriotism +demanded of him--even"--meaningly--"to the sacrificing of his own +personal happiness. . . . It was entirely his idea that Nadine should +pass as an actress. She always had dramatic talent, and when she came +out of the convent he arranged that she should study for the stage. He +believed that there was no safer way of concealing her identity than by +providing her with an entirely different one--and a very obvious one at +that. And events have proved him right. After all, people only become +suspicious when they see signs of secrecy, and there is no one more +constantly in the public eye than an actress. The last place you would +look for a missing grand duchess is on the English stage! The very +daring and publicity of the thing made it a success. No one guessed who +she was, and only I, I and Carlo Baroni, knew. Oh, yes, I was sworn to +secrecy"--as she read the question in Diana's eye--"and when I saw you +and Max drifting apart, and knew that a word from me could set things +right, I've been tempted again and again to break my oath. Thank +God!"--passionately--"Oh, thank God! I can speak now!" + +She twisted her shoulders as though freed from some heavy burden. + +"Yon thank God? _You_?" Diana spoke with bitter unbelief. "Why, it was +you who made things a thousand times worse between us--you who goaded me +into fresh suspicions. You never helped me to believe in him--although +you knew the truth! You tried to part us!" + +"I know. I did try," acknowledged Olga frankly. "I'd borne it all for +years--watched my brother sheltering Nadine, working for her, using his +genius to write plays for her--spilling all his happiness at her +feet--and I couldn't endure it any longer. I thought--oh! I _prayed_ +that when it came to a choice between you and Nadine he would give +way--let Nadine fend for herself. And that was why I tried to anger you +against him--to drive you into forcing his hand." She paused, her breast +heaving tumultuously. "But the plan failed. Max remained staunch, and +only his happiness came crashing down about his ears instead. There +is"--bleakly--"no saving saints and martyrs against their will." + +A silence fell between them, and Diana made a few wavering steps towards +a chair and sat down. She felt as though her legs would no longer +support her. + +In a mad moment, half-crazed by the new fear which the newspaper +paragraph had inspired in her, she had closed the only road which might +have led her back to Max. Yesterday, still unwitting of how infinitely +she had wronged him, passionately, humbly ready to give him the trust he +had demanded, she might have gone to him. But to-day, her knowledge of +the truth had taken from her the power to make atonement, and had raised +a barrier between herself and Max which nothing in the world could ever +break down. + +She had failed her man in the hour of his need, and henceforth she must +walk outcast in desert places. + +There were still many gaps in the story to be filled in. But one thing +stood out clearly from amidst the chaos which enveloped her, and that +was, that she had misjudged her husband--terribly, unforgivably misjudged +him. + +It was loyalty, not love, that he had given Adrienne, and he had been +right--a thousand times right--in refusing to reveal, even to his wife, +the secret which was not his alone, and upon which hung issues of life +and death and the ultimate destiny of a country--perhaps, even, of Europe +itself! + +It was to save his country from the Prussian claw that Max had sacrificed +himself with the pure fervour of a patriot, at no matter what cost! And +she, Diana, by her lack of faith, her petty jealousy, had sent him from +her, had seen to it that that cost included even his happiness! + +She had failed him every way--trailing the glory of love's golden raiment +in the dust of the highway. + +If she had but fulfilled her womanhood, what might not her unshaken faith +have meant to a man fighting a battle against such bitter odds? No +matter how worn with the stress of incessant watchfulness, or wearied by +the strain of constant planning and the need to forestall each move of +the enemy, he would have found, always waiting for him, a refuge, a quiet +haven where love dwelt and where he might forget for a space and be at +rest. All this, which had been hers to give, she had withheld. + +The silence deepened in the room. The brilliant sunshine, slanting in +through the slats of the Venetian blinds, seemed out of place in what had +suddenly become a temple of pain. Somewhere outside a robin chirruped, +the cheery little sound holding, for one of the two women sitting there, +a note of hitter mockery. + +Suddenly Diana dropped her head on her hands with a shudder. + +"Oh, God!" she whispered. "Oh, God!" + +Olga leaned forward and laid a hand on her knee. + +"You can go back to him now, and give him all the happiness that he has +missed," she said steadily. + +"Go back to him?" Diana lifted her head and stared at her with dull +eyes. "Oh, no. I shan't do that." + +"You won't go back?" Olga spoke slowly, as though she doubted her own +hearing. + +A faint, derisive smile flickered across Diana's lips. "How could I? Do +you suppose that--that having failed him when he asked me to believe in +him, I could go back to him now--now that I know everything? . . . Oh, +no, I couldn't do that. I've nothing to offer him--now--nothing to +give--neither faith nor trust, because I know the whole truth." She +spoke with the quiet finality of one who can see no hope, no possibility +of better things, anywhere. The words "Too late!" beat in her brain like +the pendulum of a clock, maddeningly insistent. + +"If only I had been content to go to him without knowing!" she went on +tonelessly. "But that paragraph in the paper--it frightened me. I felt +that I _must know_ if--if I had been wronging him all the time. And I +had!" she ended wearily. "I had." Then, after a moment: "So you see, I +can't go back to him." + +"You--can't--go--back?" The words fell slowly, one by one, from Olga's +lips. "Do you mean that you won't go back now--now that you know he has +never failed you as you thought he had? . . . Oh!"--rapidly--"you can't +mean that. You won't--you can't refuse to go back now." + +Diana lifted a grey, drawn face. + +"Don't you see," she said monotonously, "it's just because of +that--because he hasn't failed me while I've failed him so utterly--that +I can't go back?" + +Olga turned on her swiftly, her green eyes blazing dangerously. + +"It's your pride!" she cried fiercely. "It's your damnable pride that's +standing in the way! Merciful heavens! Did you ever love him, I wonder, +that you're too proud to ask his forgiveness now--now when you know what +you've done?" + +Diana's lips moved in a pitiful attempt at a smile. + +"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head. "It's not that. I've . . . no +pride . . . left, I think. But I can't be mean--_mean_ enough to crawl +back now." She paused, then went on with an inflection of irony in her +low, broken voice. "'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.' +. . . Well, I'm reaping--that's all." + +Like the keen thrust of a knife came Olga's answer. + +"And must he, too, reap your sowing? For that's what it amounts to--that +Max must suffer for your sin. Oh! He's paid enough for others! . . . +Diana"--imploringly--"Max is leaving England to-night. Go back to him +now--don't wait until it's too late," + +"No." Diana spoke in dead, flat tones. "Can't you understand?"--moving +her head restlessly. "Do you suppose--even if he forgave me--that he +could ever believe in me again? He would never be certain that I really +trusted him. He would always feel unsure of me." + +"If you can think that, then you haven't understood Max--or his love for +you," retorted Olga vehemently. "Oh! How can I make you see it? You +keep on balancing this against that--what you can give, what Max can +believe--weighing out love as though it were sold by the ounce! Max +loves you--_loves you_! And there _aren't_ any limitations to love!" +She broke off abruptly, her voice shaking. "Can't you believe it?" she +added helplessly, after a minute. + +Diana shook her head. + +"I think you mean to be kind," she said patiently. "But love is a +giving. And I--have nothing to give." + +"And you're too proud to take." + +"Yes . . . if you call that pride. I can't take--when I've nothing to +give." + +"Then you don't love! You don't know what it means to love! +Diana"--Olga's voice rose in passionate entreaty--"for God's sake go to +him! He's suffered so much. Forget what people may think--what even he +may think! Throw your pride overboard and remember only that he loves +you and has need of you. _Go to him_!" + +She ceased, and her eyes implored Diana's. No matter what may have been +her shortcomings--and they were many, for she was a hard, embittered +woman--at least, in her devotion to her brother, Olga Lermontof +approached very nearly to the heroic. + +There was a long silence. At last Diana spoke in low, shaken tones, her +head bowed. + +"I can't!" she whispered. "I shall never forgive myself. And I can't +ask Max to--forgive me. . . . He couldn't." The last words were hardly +audible. + +For a moment Olga stood quite still, gazing with hard eyes at the slight +figure hunched into drooping lines of utter weariness. Once her lips +moved, but no sound came. Then she turned away, walking with lagging +footsteps, and a minute later the door opened and closed quietly again +behind her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +CARLO BARONI EXPLAINS + +Diana sat on, very still, very silent, staring straight in front of her +with wide, tearless eyes. Only now and again a long, shuddering sigh +escaped her, like the caught breath of a child that has cried till it +is utterly exhausted and can cry no more. + +She felt that she had come to an end of things. Nothing could undo the +past, and ahead of her stretched the future, empty and void of promise. + +Presently the creak of the door reopening roused her, and she turned, +instantly on the defensive, anticipating that Olga had come back to +renew the struggle. But it was only Baroni, who approached her with a +look of infinite concern on his kind old face. + +"My child!" he began. "My child! . . . So, then! You know all that +there is to know." + +Diana looked up wearily. + +"Yes," she replied. "I know it all." + +The old _maestro's_ eyes softened as they rested upon her, and when he +spoke again, his queer husky voice was toned to a note of extraordinary +sweetness. + +"My dear pupil, if it had been possible, I would haf spared you this +knowledge. It was wrong of Olga to tell you--above all"--his face +creasing with anxiety as the ruling passion asserted itself +irrepressibly--"to tell you on a day when you haf to sing!" + +"I made her," answered Diana listlessly. She passed her hand wearily +across her forehead. "Don't worry, _Maestro_, I shall be able to sing +to-night." + +"_Tiens_! But you are all to pieces, my child! You will drink a glass +of champagne--now, at once," he insisted, adding persuasively as she +shook her head, "To please me, is it not so?" + +Diana's lips curved in a tired smile. + +"Is champagne the cure for a heartache, then, _Maestro_?" + +Baroni's eyes grew suddenly sad. + +"Ah, my dear, only death--or a great love--can heal the wound that lies +in the heart," he answered gently. He paused, then resumed crisply: +"But, meanwhile, we haf to live--and _prima donnas_ haf to sing. +So . . . the little glass of wine in my room, is it not?" + +He tucked her arm within his, patting her hand paternally, and led her +into his own sanctum, where he settled her comfortably in a big +easy-chair beside the fire, and poured her out a glass of wine, +watching her sip it with a glow of satisfaction in his eyes. + +"That goes better, _hein_? This Olga--she had not reflected +sufficiently. It was too late for the truth to do good; it could only +pain and grieve you." + +"Yes," said Diana. "It is too late now. . . . I've paid for my +ignorance with my happiness--and Max's," she added in a lower tone. +She looked across at Baroni with sudden resentment. "And you--_you +knew_!" she continued. "Why didn't you tell me? . . . Oh, but I can +guess!"--scornfully. "It suited your purpose for me to quarrel with my +husband; it brought me back to the concert platform. My happiness +counted for nothing--against that!" + +Baroni regarded her patiently. + +"And do you regret it? Would you be willing, now, to give up your +career as a _prima donna_--and all that it means?" + +A vision rose up before Diana of what life would be denuded of the +glamour and excitement, the perpetual triumphs, the thrilling sense of +power her singing gave her--the dull, flat monotony of it, and she +caught her breath sharply in instinctive recoil. + +"No," she admitted slowly. "I couldn't give it up--now." + +An odd look of satisfaction overspread Baroni's face. + +"Then do not blame me, my child. For haf I not given you a consolation +for the troubles of life." + +"I need never have had those troubles to bear if you had been frank +with me!" she flashed back. "_You--you_ were not bound by any oath of +secrecy. Oh! It was cruel of you, _Maestro_!" + +Her eyes, bitterly accusing, searched his face. + +"Tchut! Tchut! But you are too quick to think evil of your old +_maestro_." He hesitated, then went on slowly: "It is a long story, my +dear--and sometimes a very sad story. I did not think it would pass my +lips again in this world. But for you, who are so dear to me, I will +break the silence of years. . . . Listen, then. When you, my little +Pepperpot, had not yet come to earth to torment your parents, but were +still just a tiny thought in the corner of God's mind, I--your old +Baroni--I was in Ruvania." + +"You--in Ruvania?" + +He nodded. + +"Yes. I went there first as a professor of singing at the Borovnitz +Conservatoire--_per Bacco_! But they haf the very soul of music, those +Ruvanians! And I was appointed to attend also at the palace to give +lessons to the Grand Duchess. Her voice was only a little less +beautiful than your own." He hesitated, as though he found it +difficult to continue. At last he said almost shyly: "Thou, my child, +thou hast known love. . . . To me, too, at the palace, came that best +gift of the good God." + +He paused, and Diana whispered stammeringly: + +"Not--not the Grand Duchess?" + +"Yes--Sonia." The old _maestro's_ eyes kindled with a soft luminance +as his whispering voice caressed the little flame. "Hers, of course, +had been merely a marriage dictated by reasons of State, and from the +time of our first meeting, our hearts were in each other's keeping. +But she never failed in duty or in loyalty. Only once, when I was +leaving Ruvania, never to return, did she give me her lips at parting." +Again he fell silent, his thoughts straying back across the years +between to that day when he had taken farewell of the woman who had +held his very soul between her hands. Presently, with an effort, he +resumed his story. "I stayed at the Ruvanian Court many years--there +was a post of Court musician which I filled--and for both of us those +years held much of sadness. The Grand Duke Anton was a domineering +man, hated by every one, and his wife's happiness counted for nothing +with him. She had failed to give him a son, and for that he never +pardoned her. I think my presence comforted her a little. That--and +the child--the little Nadine. . . . As much as Anton was disliked, so +much was his brother Boris beloved of the people. His story you know. +Of this I am sure--that he lived and died without once regretting the +step he had taken in marrying an Englishwoman. They were lovers to the +end, those two." + +Listening to the little history of those two tender love tales that had +run their course side by side, Diana almost forgot for a moment how the +ripples of their influence, flowing out in ever-widening circles, had +touched, at last, even her own life, and had engulfed her happiness. + +But, as Baroni ceased, the recollection of her own bitter share in the +matter returned with overwhelming force, and once more she arraigned +him for his silence. + +"I still see no reason why you should not have told me the truth about +Adrienne--about Nadine Mazaroff. Max couldn't--I see that; nor Olga. +But _you_ were bound by no oath." + +"My child, I was bound by something stronger than an oath." + +The old man crossed the room to where there stood on a shelf a little +ebony cabinet, clamped with dull silver of foreign workmanship. He +unlocked it, and withdrew from it a letter, the paper faintly yellowed +and brittle with the passage of time. + +He held it out to Diana. + +"No eyes but mine haf ever rested on it since it was given into my hand +after her death," he said very gently. "But you, my child, you shall +read it; you are hurt and unhappy, battering against fate, and +believing that those who love you haf served you ill. But we were all +bound in different ways. . . . Read the letter, little one, and thou +wilt see that I, too, was not free." + +Hesitatingly Diana unfolded the thin sheet and read the few faded lines +it contained. + + +"CARLO MIO, + +"I think the end is coming for Anton and for me. The revolt of the +people is beyond all quelling. My only fear is for Nadine; my only +hope for her ultimate safety lies in Max. If ever, in the time to +come, your silence or your speech can do aught for my child--in the +name of the love you gave me, I beg it of you. In serving her, you +will be serving me. + +"SONIA." + + +Very slowly Diana handed the letter back to Baroni. + +"So--that was why," she whispered. + +Baroni bent his head. + +"That was why. I could not speak. But I did all that lay in my power +to prevent this marriage of yours." + +"You did." A wan little smile tilted the corners of her mouth at the +remembrance. + +"Afterwards--your happiness was on the knees of the gods!" + +"No," said Diana suddenly. "No. It was in my own hands. Had I +believed in Max we should have been happy still. . . . But I failed +him." + +A long silence followed. At last she rose, holding out her hands. + +"Thank you," she said simply. "Thank you for showing me the letter." + +Baroni stooped his head and carried her hands to his lips. + +"My dear, we make our mistakes and then we pay. It is always so in +life. Love"--and the odd, clouded voice shook a little--"Love +brings--great happiness--and great pain. Yet we would not be without +it." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE AWAKENING + +Somehow the interminable hours of the day had at last worn to evening, +and Diana found herself standing in front of a big mirror, listlessly +watching Milling as she bustled round her, putting the last touches to +her dress for the Duchess of Linfield's reception. The same thing had +to be gone through every concert night--the same patient waiting while +the exquisite toilette, appropriate to a _prima donna_, was consummated +by Milling's clever fingers. + +Only, this evening, every nerve in Diana's body was quivering in +rebellion. + +What was it Olga had said? "_Max is leaving England to-night._" So, +while she was being dressed like a doll for the pleasuring of the +people who had paid to hear her sing, Max was being borne away out of +her ken, out of her existence for ever. + +What a farce it all seemed! In a little while she would be singing as +perfectly as usual, bowing and smiling as usual, and not one amongst +the crowded audience would know that in reality it was only the husk of +a woman who stood there before them--the mere outer shell. All that +mattered, the heart and soul of her, was dead. She knew that quite +well. Probably she would feel glad about it in time, she thought, +because when one was dead things didn't hurt any more. It was dying +that hurt. . . . + +"Your train, madam." + +She started at the sound of Milling's respectful voice. What a +lop-sided thing a civilised sense of values seemed to be! Even when +you had dragged the white robes of your spirit deep in the mire, you +must still be scrupulously careful not to soil the hem of the white +satin that clothed your body. + +She almost laughed aloud, then bit the laugh back, picturing Milling's +astonished face. The girl would think she was mad. Perhaps she was. +It didn't matter much, anyway. + +Mechanically she held out her arm for Milling to throw the train of her +gown across it, and, picking up her gloves, went slowly downstairs. + +Baroni, his face wearing an expression of acute anxiety, was waiting +for her in the hall, restlessly pacing to and fro. + +"Ah--h!" His face cleared as by magic when the slender, white-clad +figure appeared round the last bend of the stairway. He had half +feared that at the last moment the strain of the day's emotion might +exact its penalty, and Diana prove unequal to the evening's demands. + +To hide his obvious relief, he turned sharply to the maid, who had +followed her mistress downstairs, carrying her opera coat and furs. + +"Madame's cloak--make haste!" he commanded curtly. + +And when Diana had entered the car, he waved aside the manservant and +himself tucked the big fur rug carefully round her. There was +something rather pathetic, almost maternal, in the old man's care of +her, and Diana's lips quivered. + +"Thank you, dear _Maestro_," she said, gently pressing his arm with her +hand. + + +The Duchess's house was packed with a complacent crowd of people, +congratulating themselves upon being able, for once, to combine duty +and pleasure, since the purchase-money of their tickets for the +evening's entertainment contributed to a well-known charity, and at the +same time procured them the privilege of bearing once more their +favourite singer. Some there were who had grounds for additional +satisfaction in the fact that, under the wide cloak of charity, they +had managed to squeeze through the exclusive portals of Linfield House +for the first--and probably the last--time in their lives. + +As the singer made her way through the thronged hall, those who knew +her personally bowed and smiled effusively, whilst those who didn't +looked on from afar and wished they did. It was not unlike a royal +progress, and Diana heaved a quick sigh of relief when at last she +found herself in the quiet of the little apartment set aside as an +artistes' room. + +Olga Lermontof was already there, and Diana greeted her rather +nervously. She felt horribly uncertain what attitude Miss Lermontof +might be expected to adopt in the circumstances. + +But she need have had no anxiety on that score. Olga seemed to be just +her usual self--grave and self-contained, her thin, dark-browed face +wearing its habitual half-mocking expression. Apparently she had wiped +out the day's happenings from her mind, and had become once more merely +the quiet, competent accompanist to a well-known singer. + +There was no one else in the artistes' room. The other performers were +mingling with the guests, only withdrawing from the chattering crowd +when claimed by their part in the evening's entertainment. + +"How far on are they?" asked Diana, picking up the programme and +running her eye down it. + +"Your songs are the next item but one," replied Miss Lermontof. + +A violin solo preceded the two songs which, bracketed together in the +middle of the programme as its culminating point, made the sum total of +Diana's part in it, and she waited quietly in the little anteroom while +the violinist played, was encored and played again, and throughout the +brief interval that followed. She felt that to-night she could not +face the cheap, everyday flow of talk and compliment. She would sing +because she had promised, that she would, but as soon as her part was +done she would slip away and go home--home, where she could sit alone +by the dead embers of her happiness. + +A little flutter of excitement rippled through the big rooms when at +last she mounted the platform. People who had hitherto been content to +remain, in the hall, regarding the music as a pleasant accompaniment to +the interchange of the day's news and gossip, now came flocking in +through the doorways, hoping to find seats, and mostly having to +content themselves with standing-room. + +Almost as in a dream, Diana waited for the applause to subside, her +eyes roaming halt-unconsciously over the big assembly. + +It was all so stalely familiar--the little rustle of excitement, the +preliminary clapping, the settling down to listen, and then the sea of +upturned faces spread out beneath her. + +The memory of the first time that she had sung in public, at Adrienne's +house in Somervell Street, came back to her. It had been just such an +occasion as this. . . . + +(Olga was playing the introductory bars of accompaniment to her song, +and, still as in a dream, she began to sing, the exquisite voice +thrilling out into the vast room, golden and perfect.) + +. . . Adrienne had smiled at her encouragingly from across the room, +and Jerry Leigh had been standing at the far end near some big double +doors. There were double doors to this room, too, flung wide open. +(It was odd how clearly she could recall it all; her mind seemed to be +working quite independently of what was going on around her.) And Max +had been there. She remembered how she had believed him to be still +abroad, and then, how she had looked up and suddenly met his gaze +across those rows and rows of unfamiliar faces. He had come back. + +Instinctively she glanced towards the far end of the room, where, on +that other night and in that other room, he had been standing, and +then . . . then . . . was it still only the dream, the memory of long +ago? . . . Or had God worked a miracle? . . . Over the heads of the +people, Max's eyes, grave and tender, but unspeakably sad, looked into +hers! + +A hand seemed to grip her heart, squeezing it so that she could not +draw her breath. Everything grew blurred and dim about her, but +through the blur she could still see Max, standing with his head thrown +back against the panelling of the door, his arms folded across his +chest, and his eyes--those grave, questioning eyes--fixed on her face. + +Presently the darkness cleared away and she found that she was still +singing--mechanically her voice had answered to the long training of +years. But the audience had heard the great _prima donna_ catch her +breath and falter in her song. For an instant it had seemed almost as +though she might break down. Then the tension passed, and the lovely +voice, upborne by a limitless technique, had floated out again, golden +and perfect as before. + +It was only the habit of surpassing art which had enabled Diana to +finish her song. Since last night, when she had seen Max for that +brief moment at the Embassy, she had passed through the whole gamut of +emotion, glimpsed the vision of coming happiness, only to believe that +with her own hands she had pushed it aside. And now she was conscious +of nothing but that Max--Max, the man she loved--was here, close to her +once again, and that her heart was crying out for him. He was hers, +her mate out of the whole world, and in a sudden blinding flash of +self-revelation, she recognised in her refusal to return to him a sheer +denial of the divine altruism of love. + +The blank, bewildering chaos of the last twelve hours, with its turmoil +of conflicting passions, took on a new aspect, and all at once that +which had been dark was become light. + +From the moment she had learned the truth about her husband, her +thoughts had centred solely round herself, dwelling--in, all humility, +it is true--but still dwelling none the less egotistically upon her +personal failure, her own irreparable mistake, her self-wrought +bankruptcy of all the faith and absolute belief a woman loves to give +her lover. She had thrust these things before his happiness, whereas +the stern and simple creed of love places the loved one first and +everything else immeasurably second. + +But now, in this quickened moment of revelation, Diana knew that she +loved Max utterly and entirely, that his happiness was her supreme +need, and that if she let him go from her again, life would be +henceforth a poor, maimed thing, shorn of all meaning. + +It no longer mattered that she had sinned against him, that she had +nothing to bring, that she must go to him a beggar. The scales had +fallen from her eyes, and she realised that in love there is no +reckoning--no pitiful making-up of accounts. The pride that cannot +take has no place there; where love is, giving and taking are one and +indivisible. + +Nothing mattered any longer--nothing except that Max was here--here, +within reach of the great love in her heart that was stretching out its +arms to him . . . calling him back. + +The audience, ardently applauding her first song, saw her turn and give +some brief instruction to her accompanist, who nodded, laying aside the +song which she had just placed upon the music-desk. A little whisper +ran through the assembly as people asked each other what song was about +to be substituted for the one on the programme, and when the sad, +appealing music of "The Haven of Memory," stole out into the room, they +smiled and nodded to one another, pleased that the great singer was +giving them the song in which they loved best to hear her. + + + Do you remember + Our great love's pure unfolding, + The troth you gave, + And prayed, for God's upholding, + Long and long ago? + + Out of the past + A dream--and then the waking-- + Comes back to me + Of love, and love's forsaking, + Ere the summer waned. + + Ah! Let me dream + That still a little kindness + Dwelt in the smile + That chid my foolish blindness, + When you said good-bye. + + Let me remember + When I am very lonely, + How once your love + But crowned and blessed me only, + Long and long ago. + + +There was no faltering now. The beautiful voice had never been more +touching in its exquisite appeal. All the unutterable sweetness and +humility and faith, the wistful memories, the passion and surrender +that love holds, dwelt in the throbbing notes. + +To Max, standing a little apart, the width of the room betwixt him and +the woman singing, it seemed as though she were entreating him . . . +calling to him. . . . + +The sad, tender words, poignant with regret and infinite beseeching, +clamoured against his heart, and as the last note trembled into +silence, he turned and made his way blindly out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +SACRIFICE + +"_Did you mean it?_" + +Errington's voice broke harshly through the silence of the little +anteroom where Diana waited alone. It had a curious, cracked sound, and +his breath laboured like that of a man who has run himself out. + +For a moment she kept her face hidden, trying to steady herself, but at +last she turned towards him, and in her eyes was a soft shining--a +strange, sweet fire. + +"Max!" The whispered name was hardly audible; tremulous and wistful it +seemed to creep across the room. + +But he heard it. In a moment his arms were round her, and he had +gathered her close against his heart. And so they remained for a space, +neither speaking. + +Presently Diana lifted her head. + +"Max, it was because I loved you so that I was so hard and bitter--only +because I loved you so." + +"I know," was all he said. And he kissed her hair. + +"Do you?"--wistfully. "I wonder if--if a man can understand how a woman +can be so cruel to what she loves?" + +And as he had no answer to this (since, after all, a man cannot be +expected to understand all--or even very much--that a woman does), he +kissed her lips. + +She crept a little nearer to him. + +"Max! Do you still care for me--like that?" There was wonder and +thanksgiving in her voice. "Oh, my dear, I'm down in the dust at your +feet--I've failed you utterly, wronged you every way. Even if you +forgive me, I shall never forgive myself. But I'm--all yours, Max." + +With a sudden jealous movement he folded her more closely in his arms. + +"Let me have a few moments of this," he muttered, a little breathlessly. +"A few moments of thinking you have come back to me." + +"But I _have_ come back to you!" Her eyes grew wide and startled with a +sudden, desperate apprehension. "You won't send me away again--not now?" + +His face twisted with pain. + +"Beloved, I must! God knows how hard it will be--but there is no other +way." + +"No other way?" She broke from his arms, searching his face with her +frightened eyes. "What do you mean? . . . _What do you mean_? Don't +you--care--any longer?" + +He smiled, as a man may who is asked whether the sun will rise to-morrow. + +"Not that, beloved. Never that. I've always cared, and I shall go on +caring through this world and into the next--even though, after to-night, +we may never be together again." + +"Never--together again?" She clung to him. "Oh, why do you say such +things? I can't--I can't live without you now. Max, I'm sorry--_sorry_! +I've been punished enough--don't punish me any more by sending me away +from you." + +"Punish you! Heart's dearest, there has never been any thought of +punishment in my mind. Heaven knows, I've reproached myself bitterly +enough for all the misery I've brought on you." + +"Then why--why do you talk of sending me away?" + +"I'm not going to send you away. It is I who have to go. Oh, beloved! +I ought never to have come here this evening. But I thought if I might +see you--just once again--before I went out into the night, I should at +least have that to remember. . . . And then you sang, and it seemed as +though you were calling me. . . ." + +"Yes," she said very softly. "I called you. I wanted you so." Then, +after a moment, with sudden, womanish curiosity: "How did you know I was +singing here to-night?" + +"Olga told me. She's bitterly opposed to all that I've been doing, +but"--smiling faintly--"she has occasional spasms of compassion, when she +remembers that, after all, I'm a poor devil who's being thrust out of +paradise." + +"She loves you," Diana answered simply. "I think she has loved +you--better--than I did, Max. But not more!" she added jealously. "No +one could love you more, dear." + +After a pause, she asked: + +"I suppose Olga told you that I know--everything?" + +"Yes. I'm glad you know"--quietly. "It makes it easier for me to tell +you why I must go away--out of your life." + +She leaned nearer to him, her hands on his shoulders. + +"Don't go!" she whispered. "Ah, don't go!" + +"I must," he said hoarsely. "Listen, beloved, and then you will see that +there is no other way. . . . I married you, believing that when Nadine +would be safely settled on the throne, I should be free to live my own +life, free to come back to England--and you. If I had not believed that, +I shouldn't have told you that I cared; I should have gone away and never +seen you again. But now--now I know that I shall _never_ be free, never +able to live in England." + +He paused, gathering her a little closer into his arms. + +"Everything is settled. Russia has helped, and Ruvania is ready to +welcome Nadine's return. . . . She is in Paris, now, waiting for me to +take her there. . . . It has been a long and difficult matter, and the +responsibility of Nadine's well-being in England has been immense. A +year ago, the truth as to her identity leaked out somehow--reached our +enemies' ears, and since then I've never really known an instant's peace +concerning her safety. You remember the attack which was made on her +outside the theatre?" + +Diana nodded, shame-faced, remembering its ultimate outcome. + +"Well, the man who shot at her was in the pay of the Republic--German +pay, actually. That yarn about the actor down on his luck was cooked up +for the papers, just to throw dust in the eyes of the public. . . . To +watch over Nadine's safety has been my work. Now the time has come when +she can go back and take her place as Grand Duchess of Ruvania. _And I +must go with her_." + +"No, no. Why need you go? You'll have done your work, set her securely +on the throne. Ah, Max! don't speak of going, dear." Her voice shook +incontrollably. + +"There is other work still to be done, beloved--harder work, man's work. +And I can't turn away and take my shoulder from the wheel. It needs no +great foresight to tell that there is trouble brewing on the Continent; a +very little thing would set the whole of Europe in a blaze. And when +that time arrives, if Ruvania is to come out of the struggle with her +independence unimpaired, it will only be by the utmost effort of all her +sons. Nadine cannot stand alone. What can a woman do unaided when the +nations are fighting for supremacy? The country will need a man at the +helm, and I must stand by Nadine." + +"But why you? Why not another?" + +"No other is under the same compulsion as I. As you know, my father put +his wife first and his country second. It is difficult to blame +him . . . she was very beautiful, my mother. But no man has the right to +turn away from his allotted task. And because my father did that, the +call to me to serve my country is doubly strong. I have to pay back that +of which he robbed her." + +"And have I no claim? Max! Max! Doesn't your love count at all?" + +The sad, grieving words wrung his heart. + +"Why, yes," he said unsteadily. "That's the biggest thing in the +world--our love--isn't it? But this other is a debt of honour, and you +wouldn't want me to shirk that, would you, sweet? I must pay--even if it +costs me my happiness. . . . It may seem to you as though I'd set your +happiness, too, aside. God knows, it hasn't been easy! But what could I +do? I conceive that a man's honour stands before everything. That was +why I let you believe--what you did. My word was given. I couldn't +clear myself. . . . So you see, now, beloved, why we must part." + +"No," she said quietly. "I don't see. Why can't I come to Ruvania with +you?" + +A sudden light leaped into his eyes, but it died away almost instantly. +He shook his head. + +"No, you can't come with me. Because--don't you see, dear?"--very gently +and pitifully. "As my wife, as cousin of the Grand Duchess herself, you +couldn't still be--a professional singer." + +There was a long silence. Slowly Diana drew away from her husband, +staring at him with dilated eyes. + +"Then that--that was what Baroni meant when, he told me a time would come +when your wife could no longer sing in public?" + +Max bent his head. + +"Yes. That was what he meant." + +Diana stood silently clasping and unclasping her hands. Presently she +spoke again, and there was a new note in her voice--a note of quiet +gravity and steadfast decision. + +"Dear, I am coming with you. The singing"--smiling a little +tremulously--"doesn't count--against love." + +Max made a sudden movement as though to take her in his arms, then +checked himself as suddenly. + +"No," he said quietly. "You can't come with me. It would be +impossible--out of the question. You haven't realised all it would +entail. After being a famous singer--to become merely a private +gentlewoman--a lady of a little unimportant Court! The very idea is +absurd. Always you would miss the splendour of your life, the triumphs, +the being fêted and made much of--everything that your singing has +brought you. It would be inevitable. And I couldn't endure to see the +regret growing in your eyes day by day. Oh, my dear, don't think I don't +realise the generosity of the thought--and bless you for it a thousand +times! But I won't let you pay with the rest of your life for a +heaven-kind impulse of the moment." + +His words fell on Diana's consciousness, each one weighted with a world +of significance, for she knew, even as she listened, that he spoke but +the bare truth. + +Very quietly she moved away from him and stood by the chimney-piece, +staring down into the grate where the embers lay dying. It seemed to +typify what her life would be, shorn of the glamour with which her +glorious voice had decked it. It would be as though one had plucked out +the glowing heart of a fire, leaving only ashes--dead ashes of +remembrance. + +And in exchange for the joyous freedom of Bohemia, the happy brotherhood +of artistes, there would be the deadly, daily ceremonial of a court, the +petty jealousies and intrigues of a palace! + +Very clearly Diana saw what the choice involved, and with that clear +vision came the realisation that here was a sacrifice which she, who had +so profaned love's temple, could yet make at the foot of the altar. And +within her grew and deepened the certainty that no sacrifice in the world +is too great to make for the sake of love, except the sacrifice of honour. + +Here at last was something she could give to the man she loved. She need +not go to him with empty hands. . . . + +She turned again to her husband, and her eyes were radiant with the same +soft shining that had lit them when he had first come to her in answer to +her singing. + +"Dear," she said, and her voice broke softly. "Take me with you. Oh, +but you must think me very slow and stupid not to have learned--yet--what +love means! . . . Ah, Max! Max! What am I to do, dear, if you won't +let me go with you? What shall I do with all the love that is in my +heart--if you won't take it?" For a moment she stood there tremulously +smiling, while he stared at her, in his eyes a kind of bewilderment and +unbelief fighting the dawn of an unutterable joy. + +Then at last he understood, and his arms went round her. + +"If I won't take it!" he cried, his voice all shaken with the wonder of +it. "Oh, my sweet! I'll take it as a beggar takes a gift, as a blind +man sight--on my knees, thanking God for it--and for you." + +And so Diana came again into her kingdom, whence she had wandered outcast +so many bitter months. + +Presently she drew him down beside her on to a big, cushioned divan. + +"Max, what a lot of time we've wasted!" + +"So much, sweet, that all the rest of life we'll be making up for it." +And he kissed her on the mouth by way of a beginning. + +"What will Baroni say?" she whispered, with a covert smile. + +"He'll wish he was young, as we are, so that he could love--as we do," he +replied triumphantly. + +Diana laughed at him for an arrogant lover, then sighed at a memory she +knew of. + +"I think he _has_ loved--as we do," she chided gently. + +Max's arm tightened round her. + +"Then he's in need of envy, beloved, for love like ours is the most +wonderful thing life has to give." + +They were silent a moment, and then the quick instinct of lovers told +them they were no longer alone. + +Baroni stood on the threshold of the room, frowning heavily. + +"So!" he exclaimed, grimly addressing Max. "This, then, is how you +travel in haste to Paris?" + +Startled, Diana sprang to her feet, and would have drawn herself away, +but Max laughed joyously, and still keeping her hand in his, led her +towards Baroni. + +"_We_ travel to Paris to-morrow," he said. "Won't you--wish us luck, +Baroni?" + +But luck was the last thing which the old _maestro_ was by way of wishing +them. For long he argued and expostulated upon the madness, as he termed +it, of Diana's renouncing her career, trying his utmost to dissuade her. + +"You haf not counted the cost!" he fumed at her. "You cannot haf counted +the cost!" + +But Diana only smiled at him. + +"Yes, I have. And I'm glad it's going to cost me something--a good deal, +in fact--to go back to Max. Don't you see, _Maestro_, it kind of squares +things the tiniest bit?" She paused, adding, after a moment: "And it's +such a little price to pay--for love." + +Baroni, who, after all, knew a good deal about love as well as music, +regarded her a moment in silence. Then, with a characteristic shrug of +his massive shoulders, he yielded. + +"So, then, the most marvellous voice of the century is to be wasted +reading aloud to a Grand Duchess! Ah! Dearest of all my pupils, there +is no folly in all the world at once so foolish and so splendid as the +folly of love." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPLENDID FOLLY*** + + +******* This file should be named 16427-8.txt or 16427-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/4/2/16427 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/16427-8.zip b/16427-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..bf8ce08 --- /dev/null +++ b/16427-8.zip diff --git a/16427.txt b/16427.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..689057e --- /dev/null +++ b/16427.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11128 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Splendid Folly, by Margaret Pedler + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Splendid Folly + + +Author: Margaret Pedler + + + +Release Date: August 4, 2005 [eBook #16427] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPLENDID FOLLY*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +THE SPLENDID FOLLY + +by + +MARGARET PEDLER + +Author of the Hermit of Far End, etc. + +New York +Grosset & Dunlap +Publishers + +1921 + + + + + + + +TO MY HUSBAND + +W. G. Q. PEDLER + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + I THE VERDICT + II FELLOW-TRAVELLERS + III AN ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH + IV CRAILING RECTORY + V THE SECOND MEETING + VI THE AFTERMATH OF AN ADVENTURE + VII DIANA SINGS + VIII MRS. LAWRENCE'S HOSPITALITY + IX A CONTEST OF WILLS + X MISS LERMONTOF'S ADVICE + XI THE YEAR'S FRUIT + XII MAX ERRINGTON'S RETURN + XIII THE FRIEND WHO STOOD BY + XIV THE FLAME OF LOVE + XV DIANA'S DECISION + XVI BARONI'S OPINION OF MATRIMONY + XVII "WHOM GOD HATH JOINED TOGETHER" + XVIII THE APPROACHING SHADOW + XIX THE "FIRST NIGHT" PERFORMANCE + XX THE SHADOW FALLS + XXI THE OTHER WOMAN + XXII THE PARTING OF THE WAYS + XXIII PAIN + XXIV THE VISION OF LOVE + XXV BREAKING-POINT + XXVI THE REAPING + XXVII CARLO BARONI EXPLAINS + XXVIII THE AWAKENING + XXIX SACRIFICE + + + + + THE HAVEN OF MEMORY + + Do you remember + Our great love's pure unfolding, + The troth you gave, + And prayed for God's upholding, + Long and long ago? + + Out of the past + A dream--and then the waking-- + Comes back to me, + Of love and love's forsaking, + Ere the summer waned. + + Ah! Let me dream + That still a little kindness + Dwelt in the smile + That chid my foolish blindness, + When you said good-bye. + + Let me remember, + When I am very lonely, + How once your love + But crowned and blessed me only, + Long and long ago! + + + MARGARET PEDLER. + + + + +NOTE:--Musical setting by Isador Epstein. Published by G. Ricordi & +Co.; 14 East 43rd Street, New York. + + + + +THE SPLENDID FOLLY + + +CHAPTER I + +THE VERDICT + +The March wind swirled boisterously down Grellingham Place, catching up +particles of grit and scraps of paper on his way and making them a +torment to the passers-by, just as though the latter were not already +amply occupied in trying to keep their hats on their heads. + +But the blustering fellow cared nothing at all about that as he drove +rudely against them, slapping their faces and blinding their eyes with +eddies of dust; on the contrary, after he had swept forwards like a +tornado for a matter of fifty yards or so he paused, as if in search of +some fresh devilment, and espied a girl beating her way up the street and +carrying a roll of music rather loosely in the crook of her arm. In an +instant he had snatched the roll away and sent the sheets spread-eagling +up the street, looking like so many big white butterflies as they flapped +and whirled deliriously hither and thither. + +The girl made an ineffectual grab at them and then dashed in pursuit, +while a small greengrocer's boy, whose time was his master's (ergo, his +own), joined in the chase with enthusiasm. + +Given a high wind, and half-a-dozen loose sheets of music, the elusive +quality of the latter seems to be something almost supernatural, not to +say diabolical, and the pursuit would probably have been a lengthy one +but for the fact that a tall man, who was rapidly advancing from the +opposite direction, seeing the girl's predicament, came to her help and +headed off the truant sheets. Within a few moments the combined efforts +of the girl, the man, and the greengrocer's boy were successful in +gathering them together once more, and having tipped the boy, who had +entered thoroughly into the spirit of the thing and who was grinning +broadly, she turned, laughing and rather breathless, to thank the man. + +But the laughter died suddenly away from her lips as she encountered the +absolute lack of response in his face. It remained quite grave and +unsmiling, exactly as though its owner had not been engaged, only two +minutes before, in a wild and undignified chase after half-a-dozen sheets +of paper which persisted in pirouetting maddeningly just out of reach. + +The face was that of a man of about thirty-five, clean-shaven and +fair-skinned, with arresting blue eyes of that peculiar piercing quality +which seems to read right into the secret places of one's mind. The +features were clear-cut--straight nose, square chin, the mouth rather +sternly set, yet with a delicate uplift at its corners that gave it a +singularly sweet expression. + +The girl faltered. + +"Thank you so much," she murmured at last. + +The man's deep-set blue eyes swept her from head to foot in a single +comprehensive glance. + +"I am very glad to have been of service," he said briefly. + +With a slight bow he raised his hat and passed on, moving swiftly down +the street, leaving her staring surprisedly after him and vaguely feeling +that she had been snubbed. + +To Diana Quentin this sensation was something of a novelty. As a rule, +the men who were brought into contact with her quite obviously +acknowledged her distinctly charming personality, but this one had +marched away with uncompromising haste and as unconcernedly as though she +had been merely the greengrocer's boy, and he had been assisting him in +the recovery of some errant Brussels sprouts. + +For a moment an amused smile hovered about her lips; then the +recollection of her business in Grellingham Place came back to her with a +suddenly sobering effect and she hastened on her way up the street, +pausing at last at No. 57. She mounted the steps reluctantly, and with a +nervous, spasmodic intake of the breath pressed the bell-button. + +No one came to answer the door--for the good and sufficient reason that +Diana's timid pressure had failed to elicit even the faintest sound--and +its four blank brown panels seemed to stare at her forbiddingly. She +stared back at them, her heart sinking ever lower and lower the while, +for behind those repellent portals dwelt the great man whose "Yea" or +"Nay" meant so much to her--Carlo Baroni, the famous teacher of singing, +whose verdict upon any voice was one from which there could be no appeal. + +Diana wondered how many other aspirants to fame had lingered like herself +upon that doorstep, their hearts beating high with hope, only to descend +the white-washed steps a brief hour later with the knowledge that from +the standpoint of the musical profession their voices were useless for +all practical purposes, and with their pockets lighter by two guineas, +the _maestro's_ fee for an opinion. + +The wind swept up the street again and Diana shivered, her teeth +chattering partly with cold but even more with nervousness. This was a +bad preparation for the coming interview, and with an irritation born of +despair she pressed the bell-button to such good purpose that she could +hear footsteps approaching, almost before the trill of the bell had +vibrated into silence. + +An irreproachable man-servant, with the face of a sphinx, opened the door. + +Diana tried to speak, failed, then, moistening her lips, jerked out the +words:-- + +"Signor Baroni?" + +"Have you an appointment?" came the relentless inquiry, and Diana could +well imagine how inexorably the greatly daring who had come on chance +would be turned away. + +"Yes--oh, yes," she stammered. "For three o'clock--Miss Diana Quentin." + +"Come this way, please." The man stood aside for her to enter, and a +minute later she found herself following him through a narrow hall to the +door of a room whence issued the sound of a softly-played pianoforte +accompaniment. + +The sphinx-like one threw open the door and announced her name, and with +quaking knees she entered. + +The room was a large one. At its further end stood a grand piano, so +placed that whoever was playing commanded a full view of the remainder of +the room, and at this moment the piano-stool was occupied by Signor +Baroni himself, evidently in the midst of giving a lesson to a young man +who was standing at his elbow. He was by no means typically Italian in +appearance; indeed, his big frame and finely-shaped head with its +massive, Beethoven brow reminded one forcibly of the fact that his mother +had been of German origin. But the heavy-lidded, prominent eyes, neither +brown nor hazel but a mixture of the two, and the sallow skin and long, +mobile lips--these were unmistakably Italian. The nose was slightly +Jewish in its dominating quality, and the hair that was tossed back over +his head and descended to the edge of his collar with true musicianly +luxuriance was grizzled by sixty years of strenuous life. It would seem +that God had taken an Italian, a German, and a Jew, and out of them +welded a surpassing genius. + +Baroni nodded casually towards Diana, and, still continuing to play with +one hand, gestured towards an easy-chair with the other. + +"How do you do? Will you sit down, please," he said, speaking with a +strong, foreign accent, and then apparently forgot all about her. + +"Now"--he turned to the young man whose lesson her entry had +interrupted--"we will haf this through once more. Bee-gin, please: '_In +all humility I worship thee_.'" + +Obediently the young man opened his mouth, and in a magnificent baritone +voice declaimed that reverently, and from a great way off, he ventured to +worship at his beloved's shrine, while Diana listened spell-bound. + +If this were the only sort of voice Baroni condescended to train, what +chance had she? And the young man's singing seemed so finished, the +fervour of his passion was so vehemently rendered, that she humbly +wondered that there still remained anything for him to learn. It was +almost like listening to a professional. + +Quite suddenly Baroni dropped his hands from the piano and surveyed the +singer with such an eloquent mixture of disgust and bitter contempt in +his extraordinarily expressive eyes that Diana positively jumped. + +"Ach! So that is your idea of a humble suitor, is it?" he said, and +though he never raised his voice above the rather husky, whispering tones +that seemed habitual to him, it cut like a lash. Later, Diana was to +learn that Baroni's most scathing criticisms and most furious reproofs +were always delivered in a low, half-whispering tone that fairly seared +the victim. "That is your idea, then--to shout, and yell, and bellow +your love like a caged bull? When will you learn that music is not +noise, and that love--love"--and the odd, husky voice thrilled suddenly +to a note as soft and tender as the cooing of a wood-pigeon--"can be +expressed _piano_--ah, but _pianissimo_--as well as by blowing great +blasts of sound from those leathern bellows which you call your lungs?" + +The too-forceful baritone stood abashed, shifting uneasily from one foot +to the other. With a swift motion Baroni swept up the music from the +piano and shovelled it pell-mell into the young man's arms. + +"Oh, go away, go away!" he said impatiently. "You are a voice--just a +voice--and nothing more. You will _nevaire_ be an artist!" And he +turned his back on him. + +Very dejectedly the young man made his way towards the door, whilst +Diana, overcome with sympathy and horror at his abrupt dismissal, could +hardly refrain from rushing forward to intercede for him. + +And then, to her intense amazement, Baroni whisked suddenly round, and +following the young man to the door, laid his hand on his shoulder. + +"_Au revoir, mon brave_," he said, with the utmost bonhomie. "Bring the +song next time and we will go through it again. But do not be +discouraged--no, for there is no need. It will come--it will come. But +remember, _piano--piano--pianissimo_!" + +And with a reassuring pat on the shoulder he pushed the young man +affectionately through the doorway and closed the door behind him. + +So he had not been dismissed in disgrace after all! Diana breathed a +sigh of relief, and, looking up, found Signor Baroni regarding her with a +large and benevolent smile. + +"You theenk I was too severe with him?" he said placidly. "But no. He +is like iron, that young man; he wants hammer-blows." + +"I think he got them," replied Diana crisply, and then stopped, aghast at +her own temerity. She glanced anxiously at Baroni to see if he had +resented her remark, only to find him surveying her with a radiant smile +and looking exactly like a large, pleased child. + +"We shall get on, the one with the other," he observed contentedly. +"Yes, we shall get on. And now--who are you? I do not remember +names"--with a terrific roll of his R's--"but you haf a very pree-ty +face--and I never forget a pree-ty face." + +"I'm--I'm Diana Quentin," she blurted out, nervousness once more +overpowering her as she realised that the moment of her ordeal was +approaching. "I've come to have my voice tried." + +Baroni picked up a memorandum book from his table, turning over the pages +till he came to her name. + +"Ach! I remember now. Miss Waghorne--my old pupil sent you. She has +been teaching you, isn't it so?" + +Diana nodded. + +"Yes, I've had a few lessons from her, and she hoped that possibly you +would take me as a pupil." + +It was out at last--the proposal which now, in the actual presence of the +great man himself, seemed nothing less than a piece of stupendous +presumption. + +Signor Baroni's eyes roamed inquiringly over the face and figure of the +girl before him--quite possibly querying as to whether or no she +possessed the requisite physique for a singer. Nevertheless, the great +master was by no means proof against the argument of a pretty face. +There was a story told of him that, on one occasion, a girl with an +exceptionally fine voice had been brought to him, some wealthy patroness +having promised to defray the expenses of her training if Baroni would +accept her as a pupil. Unfortunately, the girl was distinctly plain, +with a quite uninteresting plainness of the pasty, podgy description, and +after he had heard her sing, the _maestro_, first dismissing her from the +room, had turned to the lady who was prepared to stand sponsor for her, +and had said, with an inimitable shrug of his massive shoulders:-- + +"The voice--it is all right. But the girl--heavens, madame, she is of an +ugliness! And I cannot teach ugly people. She has the face of a +peeg--please take her away." + +But there was little fear that a similar fate would befall Diana. Her +figure, though slight with the slenderness of immaturity, was built on +the right lines, and her young, eager face, in its frame of raven hair, +was as vivid as a flower--its clear pallor serving but to emphasise the +beauty of the straight, dark brows and of the scarlet mouth with its +ridiculously short upper-lip. Her eyes were of that peculiarly light +grey which, when accompanied, as hers were, by thick black lashes, gives +an almost startling impression each time the lids are lifted, an odd +suggestion of inner radiance that was vividly arresting. + +An intense vitality, a curious shy charm, the sensitiveness inseparable +from the artist nature--all these, and more, Baroni's experienced eye +read in Diana's upturned face, but it yet remained for him to test the +quality of her vocal organs. + +"Well, we shall see," he said non-committally. "I do not take many +pupils." + +Diana's heart sank yet a little lower, and she felt almost tempted to +seek refuge in immediate flight rather than remain to face the inevitable +dismissal that she guessed would be her portion. + +Baroni, however, put a summary stop to any such wild notions by turning +on her with the lightning-like change of mood which she came afterwards +to know as characteristic of him. + +"You haf brought some songs?" He held out his hand. "Good. Let me see +them." + +He glanced swiftly through the roll of music which she tendered. + +"This one--we will try this. Now"--seating himself at the piano--"open +your mouth, little nightingale, and sing." + +Softly he played the opening bars of the prelude to the song, and Diana +watched fascinatedly while he made the notes speak, and sing, and melt +into each other with his short stumpy fingers that looked as though they +and music would have little enough in common. + +"Now then. Bee-gin." + +And Diana began. But she was so nervous that she felt as though her +throat had suddenly closed up, and only a faint, quavering note issued +from her lips, breaking off abruptly in a hoarse croak. + +Baroni stopped playing. + +"Tchut! she is frightened," he said, and laid an encouraging hand on her +shoulder. "But do not be frightened, my dear. You haf a pree-ty face; +if your voice is as pree-ty as your face you need not haf fear." + +Diana was furious with herself for failing at the critical moment, and +even more angry at Baroni's speech, in which she sensed a suggestion of +the tolerance extended to the average drawing-room singer of mediocre +powers. + +"I don't want to have a _pretty_ voice!" she broke out, passionately. "I +wouldn't say thank you for it." + +And anger having swallowed up her nervousness, she opened her mouth--and +her throat with it this time?--and let out the full powers that were +hidden within her nice big larynx. + +When she ceased, Baroni closed the open pages of the song, and turning on +his stool, regarded her for a moment in silence. + +"No," he said at last, dispassionately. "It is certainly not a pree-ty +voice." + +To Diana's ears there was such a tone of indifference, such an air of +utter finality about the brief speech, that she felt she would have been +eternally grateful now could she only have passed the low standard +demanded by the possession of even a merely "pretty" voice. + +"So this is the voice you bring me to cultivate?" continued the +_maestro_. "This that sounds like the rumblings of a subterranean +earthquake? Boom! boo-o-om! Like that, _nicht wahr_?" + +Diana crimsoned, and, feeling her knees giving way beneath her, sank into +the nearest chair, while Baroni continued to stare at her. + +"Then--then you cannot take me as a pupil?" she said faintly. + +Apparently he did not hear her, for he asked abruptly:-- + +"Are you prepared to give up everything--everything in the world for art? +She is no easy task-mistress, remember! She will want a great deal of +your time, and she will rob you of your pleasures, and for her sake you +will haf to take care of your body--to guard your physical health--as +though it were the most precious thing on earth. To become a great +singer, a great artiste, means a life of self-denial. Are you prepared +for this?" + +"But--but--" stammered Diana in astonishment. "If my voice is not even +pretty--if it is no good--" + +"_No good_?" he exclaimed, leaping to his feet with a rapidity of +movement little short of marvellous in a man of his size and bulk. +"_Gran Dio_! No good, did you say? But, my child, you haf a voice of +gold--pure gold. In three years of my training it will become the voice +of the century. Tchut! No good!" + +He pranced nimbly to the door and flung it open. + +"Giulia! Giulia!" he shouted, and a minute later a fat, amiable-looking +woman, whose likeness to Baroni proclaimed them brother and sister, came +hurrying downstairs in answer to his call. "Signora Evanci, my sister," +he said, nodding to Diana. "This, Giulia, is a new pupil, and I would +haf you hear her voice. It is magnificent--_epatant_! Open your mouth, +little singing-bird, once more. This time we will haf some scales." + +Bewildered and excited, Diana sang again, Baroni testing the full compass +of her voice until quite suddenly he shut down the lid of the piano. + +"It is enough," he said solemnly, and then, turning to Signora Evanci, +began talking to her in an excited jumble of English and Italian. Diana +caught broken phrases here and there. + +"Of a quality superb! . . . And a beeg compass which will grow beeger +yet. . . . The contralto of the century, Giulia." + +And Signora Evanci smiled and nodded agreement, patting Diana's hand, and +reminded Baroni that it was time for his afternoon cup of consomme. She +was a comfortable feather-bed of a woman, whose mission in life it seemed +to be to fend off from her brother all sharp corners, and to see that he +took his food at the proper intervals and changed into the thick +underclothing necessitated by the horrible English climate. + +"But it will want much training, your voice," continued Baroni, turning +once more to Diana. "It is so beeg that it is all over the place--it +sounds like a clap of thunder that has lost his way in a back garden." +And he smiled indulgently. "To bee-gin with, you will put away all your +songs--every one. There will be nothing but exercises for months yet. +And you will come for your first lesson on Thursday. Mondays and +Thursdays I will teach you, but you must come other days, also, and +listen at my lessons. There is much--very much--learned by listening, if +one listens with the brain as well as with the ear. Now, little +singing-bird, good-bye. I will go with you myself to the door." + +The whole thing seemed too impossibly good to be true. Diana felt as if +she were in the middle of a beautiful dream from which she might at any +moment waken to the disappointing reality of things. Hardly able to +believe the evidence of her senses, she found herself once again in the +narrow hall, shepherded by the maestro's portly form. As he held the +door open for her to pass out into the street, some one ran quickly up +the steps, pausing on the topmost. + +"Ha, Olga!" exclaimed Baroni, beaming. "You haf returned just too late +to hear Mees Quentin. But you will play for her--many times yet." Then, +turning to Diana, he added by way of introduction: "This is my +accompanist, Mees Lermontof." + +Diana received the impression of a thin, satirical face, its unusual +pallor picked out by the black brows and hair, of a bitter-looking mouth +that hardly troubled itself to smile in salutation, and, above all, of a +pair of queer green eyes, which, as the heavy, opaque white lids above +them lifted, seemed slowly--and rather contemptuously--to take her in +from head to foot. + +She bowed, and as Miss Lermontof inclined her head slightly in response, +there was a kind of cold aloofness in her bearing--a something defiantly +repellent--which filled Diana with a sudden sense of dislike, almost of +fear. It was as though the sun had all at once gone behind a cloud. + +The Baroni's voice fell on her ears, and the disagreeable tension snapped. + +"_A rivederci_, little singing-bird. On Thursday we will bee-gin." + +The door closed on the _maestro's_ benevolently smiling face, and on that +other--the dark, satirical face of Olga Lermontof--and Diana found +herself once again breasting the March wind as it came roystering up +through Grellingham Place. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +FELLOW-TRAVELLERS + +"Look sharp, miss, jump in! Luggage in the rear van." + +The porter hoisted her almost bodily up the steps of the railway +carriage, slamming the door behind her, the guard's whistle shrieked, and +an instant later the train started with a jerk that sent Diana staggering +against the seat of the compartment, upon which she finally subsided, +breathless but triumphant. + +She had very nearly missed the train. An organised procession of some +kind had been passing through the streets just as she was driving to the +station, and her taxi had been held up for the full ten minutes' grace +which she had allowed herself, the metre fairly ticking its heart out in +impotent rage behind the policeman's uplifted hand. + +So it was with a sigh of relief that she found herself at last +comfortably installed in a corner seat of a first-class carriage. She +glanced about her to make sure that she had not mislaid any of her hand +baggage in her frantic haste, and this point being settled to her +satisfaction, she proceeded to take stock of her fellow-traveller, for +there was one other person in the compartment besides herself. + +He was sitting in the corner furthest away, his back to the engine, +apparently entirely oblivious of her presence. On his knee rested a +quarto writing-pad, and he appeared so much absorbed in what he was +writing that Diana doubted whether he had even heard the commotion, +occasioned by her sudden entry. + +But she was mistaken. As the porter had bundled her into the carriage, +the man in the corner had raised a pair of deep-set blue eyes, looked at +her for a moment with a half-startled glance, and then, with the barest +flicker of a smile, had let his eyes drop once more upon his writing-pad. +Then he crossed out the word "Kismet," which he had inadvertently written. + +Diana regarded him with interest. He was probably an author, she +decided, and since a year's training as a professional singer had brought +her into contact with all kinds of people who earned their livings by +their brains, as she herself hoped to do some day, she instantly felt a +friendly interest in him. She liked, too, the shape of the hand that +held the fountain-pen; it was a slender, sensitive-looking member with +well-kept nails, and Diana always appreciated nice hands. The man's head +was bent over his work, so that she could only obtain a foreshortened +glimpse of his face, but he possessed a supple length of limb that even +the heavy travelling-rug tucked around his knees failed to disguise, and +there was a certain _soigne_ air of rightness about the way he wore his +clothes which pleased her. + +Suddenly becoming conscious that she was staring rather openly, she +turned her eyes away and looked out of the window, and immediately +encountered a big broad label, pasted on to the glass, with the word +"_Reserved_" printed on it in capital letters. The letters, of course, +appeared reversed to any one inside the carriage, but they were so big +and black and hectoring that they were quite easily deciphered. + +Evidently, in his violent haste to get her on board the train, the porter +had thrust her into the privacy of some one's reserved compartment that +some one being the man opposite. What a horrible predicament! Diana +felt hot all over with embarrassment, and, starting to her feet, +stammered out a confused apology. + +The man in the corner raised his head. + +"It does not matter in the least," he assured her indifferently. "Please +do not distress yourself. I believe the train is very crowded; you had +better sit down again." + +The chilly lack of interest in his tones struck Diana with an odd sense +of familiarity, but she was too preoccupied to dwell on it, and began +hastily to collect together her dressing-case and other odds and ends. + +"I'll find another seat," she said stiffly, and made her way out into the +corridor of the rocking train. + +Her search, however, proved quite futile; every compartment was packed +with people hurrying out of town for Easter, and in a few moments she +returned. + +"I'm sorry," she said, rather shyly. "Every seat is taken. I'm afraid +you'll have to put up with me." + +Just then the carriage gave a violent lurch, as the express swung around +a bend, and Diana, dropping everything she held, made a frantic clutch at +the rack above her head, while her goods and chattels shot across the +floor, her dressing-case sliding gaily along till its wild career was +checked against the foot of the man in the corner. + +With an air of resignation he rose and retrieved her belongings, placing +them on the seat opposite her. + +"It would have been better if you had taken my advice," he observed, with +a sort of weary patience. + +Diana felt unreasonably angry with him. + +"Why don't you say 'I told you so' at once?" she said tartly. + +A whimsical smile crossed his face. + +"Well, I did, didn't I?" + +He stood for a moment looking down at her, steadying himself with one +hand against the doorway, and her ill-humour vanishing as quickly as it +had arisen, she returned the smile. + +"Yes, you did. And you were quite right, too," she acknowledged frankly. + +He laughed outright. + +"Well done!" he cried. "Not one woman in twenty will own herself in the +wrong as a rule." + +Diana frowned. + +"I don't agree with you at all," she bristled. "Men have a ridiculous +way of lumping all women together and then generalising about them." + +"Let's discuss the question," he said gaily. "May I?" And scarcely +waiting for her permission, he deliberately moved aside her things and +seated himself opposite her. + +"But you were busy writing," she protested. + +He threw an indifferent glance in the direction of his writing-pad, where +it lay on the seat in the corner. + +"Was I?" he answered calmly. "Sometimes there are better things to do +than scribbling--pleasanter ones, anyway." + +Diana flushed. It certainly was an unusual thing to do, to get into +conversation with an unknown man with whom one chanced to be travelling, +and she had never before committed such a breach of the +conventions--would have been shocked at the bare idea of it--but there +was something rather irresistible about this man's cool self-possession. +He seemed to assume that a thing must of necessity be right, since he +chose to do it. + +She looked up and met his eyes watching her with a glint of amusement in +their depths. + +"No, it isn't quite proper," he agreed, answering her unspoken thought. +"But I've never bothered about that if I really wanted to do a thing. +And don't you think"--still with that flicker of laughter in his +eyes--"that it's rather ridiculous, when two human beings are shut up in +a box together for several hours, for each of them to behave as though +the other weren't there?" + +He spoke half-mockingly, and Diana, felt that within himself he was +ridiculing her prim little notions of conventionality. She flushed +uncomfortably. + +"Yes, I--I suppose so," she faltered. + +He seemed to understand. + +"Forgive me," he said, with a sudden gentleness. "I wasn't laughing at +you, but only at all the absurd conventions by which we cut ourselves off +from many an hour of pleasant intercourse--just as though we had any too +many pleasures in life! But if you wish it, I'll go back to my corner." + +"No, no, don't go," returned Diana hastily. "It--it was silly of me." + +"Then we may talk? Good. I shall behave quite nicely, I assure you." + +Again the curiously familiar quality in his voice! She was positive she +had heard it before--that crisp, unslurred enunciation, with its keen +perception of syllabic values, so unlike the average Englishman's +slovenly rendering of his mother-tongue. + +"Of what are you thinking?" he asked, smiling. And then the swift, +hawk-like glance of the blue eyes brought with it a sudden, sure sense of +recognition, stinging the slumbering cells of memory into activity. A +picture shaped itself in her mind of a blustering March day, and of a +girl, a man, and an errand-boy, careering wildly in the roadway of a +London street, while some stray sheets of music went whirling hither and +thither in the wind. It had all happened a year ago, on that critical +day when Baroni had consented to accept her as his pupil, but the +recollection of it, and the odd, snubbed feeling she had experienced in +regard to the man with the blue eyes, was as clear in her mind as though +it had occurred only yesterday. + +"I believe we have met before, haven't we?" she said. + +The look of gay good-humour vanished suddenly from his face and an +expression of blank inquiry took its place. + +"I think not," he replied. + +"Oh, but I'm sure of it. Don't you remember"--brightly--"about a year +ago. I was carrying some music, and it all blew away up the street and +you helped me to collect it again?" + +He shook his head. + +"I think you must be mistaken," he answered regretfully. + +"No, no," she persisted, but beginning to experience some slight +embarrassment. (It is embarrassing to find you have betrayed a keen and +vivid recollection of a man who has apparently forgotten that he ever set +eyes on you!) "Oh, you must remember--it was in Grellingham Place, and +the greengrocer's boy helped as well." + +She broke off, reading the polite negation in his face. + +"You must be confusing me with some one else. I should not be likely +to--forget--so charming a _rencontre_." + +There was surely a veiled mockery in his composed tones, irreproachably +courteous though they were, and Diana coloured hotly. Somehow, this man +possessed the faculty of making her feel awkward and self-conscious and +horribly young; he himself was so essentially of the polished type of +cosmopolitan that beside him she felt herself to be as raw and crude as +any bread-and-butter miss fresh from the schoolroom. Moreover, she had +an inward conviction that in reality he recollected the incident in +Grellingham Place as clearly as she did herself, although he refused to +admit it. + +She relapsed into an uncomfortable silence, and presently the attendant +from the restaurant car came along the corridor and looked in to ask if +they were going to have dinner on the train. Both nodded an affirmative. + +"Table for two?" he queried, evidently taking them to be two friends +travelling together. + +Diana was about to enlighten him when her _vis-a-vis_ leaned forward +hastily. + +"Please," he said persuasively, and as she returned no answer he +apparently took her silence for consent, for something passed +unobtrusively from his hand to that of the attendant, and the latter +touched his hat with a smiling--"Right you are, sir! I'll reserve a +table for two." + +Diana felt that the acquaintance was progressing rather faster than she +could have wished, but she hardly knew how to check it. Finally she +mustered up courage to say firmly:-- + +"It must only be if I pay for my own dinner." + +"But, of course," he answered courteously, with the slightest tinge of +surprise in his tones, and once again Diana, felt that she had made a +fool of herself and blushed to the tips of her ears. + +A faint smile trembled for an instant on his lips, and then, without +apparently noticing her confusion, he began to talk, passing easily from +one subject to another until she had regained her confidence, finally +leading her almost imperceptibly into telling him about herself. + +In the middle of dinner she paused, aghast at her own loquacity. + +"But what a horrible egotist you must think me!" she exclaimed. "I've +been talking about my own affairs all the time." + +"Not at all. I'm interested. This Signor Baroni who is training your +voice--he is the finest teacher in the world. You must have a very +beautiful voice for him to have accepted you as a pupil." There was a +hint of surprise in his tones. + +"Oh, no," she hastened to assure him modestly. "I expect it was more +that I had the luck to catch him in a good mood that afternoon." + +"And his moods vary considerably, don't they?" he said, smiling as though +at some personal recollection. + +"Oh, do you know him?" asked Diana eagerly. + +In an instant his face became a blank mask; it was as though a shutter +had descended, blotting out all its vivacious interest. + +"I have met him," he responded briefly. Then, turning the subject +adroitly, he went on: "So now you are on your way home for a well-earned +holiday? Your people must be looking forward to seeing you after so long +a time--you have been away a year, didn't you say?" + +"Yes, I spent the other two vacations abroad, in Italy, for the sake of +acquiring the language. Signor Baroni"--laughingly--"was horror-stricken +at my Italian, so he insisted. But I have no people--not really, you +know," she continued. "I live with my guardian and his daughter. Both +my parents died when I was quite young." + +"You are not very old now," he interjected. + +"I'm eighteen," she answered seriously. + +"It's a great age," he acknowledged, with equal gravity. + +Just then a waiter sped forward and with praiseworthy agility deposited +their coffee on the table without spilling a drop, despite the swaying of +the train, and Diana's fellow-traveller produced his cigarette-case. + +"Will you smoke?" he asked. + +She looked at the cigarettes longingly. + +"Baroni's forbidden me to smoke," she said, hesitating a little. "Do you +think--just one--would hurt my voice?" + +The short black lashes flew up, and the light-grey eyes, like a couple of +stars between black clouds, met his in irresistible appeal. + +"I'm sure it wouldn't," he replied promptly. "After all, this is just an +hour's playtime that we have snatched out of life. Let's enjoy every +minute of it--we may never meet again." + +Diana felt her heart contract in a most unexpected fashion. + +"Oh, I hope we shall!" she exclaimed, with ingenuous warmth. + +"It is not likely," he returned quietly. He struck a match and held it +while she lit her cigarette, and for an instant their fingers touched. +His teeth came down hard on his under-lip. "No, we mustn't meet again," +he repeated in a low voice. + +"Oh, well, you never know," insisted Diana, with cheerful optimism. +"People run up against each other in the most extraordinary fashion. And +I expect we shall, too." + +"I don't think so," he said. "If I thought that we should--" He broke +off abruptly, frowning. + +"Why, I don't believe you _want_ to meet me again!" exclaimed Diana, with +a note in her voice like that of a hurt child. + +"Oh, for that!" He shrugged his shoulders. "If we could have what we +wanted in this world! Though, I mustn't complain--I have had this hour. +And I wanted it!" he added, with a sudden intensity. + +"So much that you propose to make it last you for the remainder of your +life?"--smiling. + +"It will have to," he answered grimly. + +After dinner they made their way back from the restaurant car to their +compartment, and noticing that she looked rather white and tired, he +suggested that she should tuck herself up on the seat and go to sleep. + +"But supposing I didn't wake at the right time?" she objected. "I might +be carried past my station and find myself heaven knows where in the +small hours of the morning! . . . I _am_ sleepy, though." + +"Let me be call-boy," he suggested. "Where do you want to get out?" + +"At Craiford Junction. That's the station for Crailing, where I'm going. +Do you know it at all? It's a tiny village in Devonshire; my guardian is +the Rector there." + +"Crailing?" An odd expression crossed his face and he hesitated a +moment. At last, apparently coming to a decision of some kind, he said: +"Then I must wake you up when I go, as I'm getting out before that." + +"Can I trust you?" she asked sleepily. + +"Surely." + +She had curled herself up on the seat with her feet stretched out in +front of her, one narrow foot resting lightly on the instep of the other, +and she looked up at him speculatively from between the double fringe of +her short black lashes. + +"Yes, I believe I can," she acquiesced, with a little smile. + +He tucked his travelling rug deftly round her, and, pulling on his +overcoat, went hack to his former corner, where he picked up the +neglected writing-pad and began scribbling in a rather desultory fashion. + +Very soon her even breathing told him that she slept, and he laid aside +the pad and sat quietly watching her. She looked very young and childish +as she lay there, with the faint shadows of fatigue beneath her closed +eyes--there was something appealing about her very helplessness. +Presently the rug slipped a little, and he saw her hand groping vaguely +for it. Quietly he tiptoed across the compartment and drew it more +closely about her. + +"Thank you--so much," she murmured drowsily, and the man looking down at +her caught his breath sharply betwixt his teeth. Then, with an almost +imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, he stepped back and resumed his +seat. + +The express sped on through the night, the little twin globes of light +high up in the carriage ceiling jumping and flickering as it swung along +the metals. + +Down the track it flew like a living thing, a red glow marking its +passage as it cleft the darkness, its freight of human souls contentedly +sleeping, or smoking, or reading, as the fancy took them. And half a +mile ahead on the permanent way, Death stood watching--watching and +waiting where, by some hideous accident of fate, a faulty coupling-rod +had snapped asunder in the process of shunting, leaving a solitary +coal-truck to slide slowly back into the shadows of the night, unseen, +the while its fellows were safely drawn on to a aiding. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +AN ENCOUNTER WITH DEATH + +One moment the even throbbing of the engine as the train slipped along +through the silence of the country-side--the next, and the silence was +split by a shattering roar and the shock of riven plates, the clash of +iron driven against iron, and of solid woodwork grinding and grating as +it splintered into wreckage. + +Diana, suddenly--horribly--awake, found herself hurled from her seat. +Absolute darkness lapped her round; it was as though a thick black +curtain had descended, blotting out the whole world, while from behind +it, immeasurably hideous in that utter night, uprose an inferno of cries +and shrieks--the clamour of panic-stricken humanity. + +Her hands, stretched stiffly out in front of her to ward off she knew not +what impending horror hidden by the dark, came in contact with the +framework of the window, and in an instant she was clinging to it, +pressing up against it with her body, her fingers gripping and clutching +at it as a rat, trapped in a well, claws madly at a projecting bit of +stonework. It was at least something solid out of that awful void. + +"What's happened? What's happened? What's happened?" + +She was whispering the question over and over again in a queer, +whimpering voice without the remotest idea of what she was saying. When +a stinging pain shot through her arm, as a jagged point of broken glass +bit into the flesh, and with a scream of utter, unreasoning terror she +let go her hold. + +The next moment she felt herself grasped and held by a pair of arms, and +a voice spoke to her out of the darkness. + +"Are you hurt? . . . My God, are you hurt?" + +With a sob of relief she realised that it was the voice of her +fellow-traveller. He was here, close to her, something alive and human +in the midst of this nightmare of awful, unspeakable fear, and she clung +to him, shuddering. + +"Speak, can't you?" His utterance sounded hoarse and distorted. "You're +hurt--?" And she felt his hands slide searchingly along her limbs, +feeling and groping. + +"No--no." + +"Thank God!" He spoke under his breath. Then, giving her a shake: +"Come, pull yourself together. We must get out of this." + +He fumbled in his pocket and she heard the rattle of a matchbox, and an +instant later a flame spurted out in the gloom as he lit a bundle of +matches together. In the brief illumination she could see the floor of +the compartment steeply tilted up and at its further end what looked like +a huge, black cavity. The whole side of the carriage had been wrenched +away. + +"Come on!" exclaimed the man, catching her by the hand and pulling her +forward towards that yawning space. "We must jump for it. It'll be a +big drop. I'll catch you." + +At the edge of the gulf he paused. Below, with eyes grown accustomed to +the darkness, she could discern figures running to and fro, and lanterns +flashing, while shouts and cries rose piercingly above a continuous low +undertone of moaning. + +"Stand here," he directed her. "I'll let myself down, and when I call to +you--jump." + +She caught at him frantically. + +"Don't go--don't leave me." + +He disengaged himself roughly from her clinging hands. + +"It only wants a moment's pluck," he said, "and then you'll be safe." + +The next minute he was over the side, hanging by his hands from the edge +of the bent and twisted flooring of the carriage, and a second afterwards +she heard him drop. Peering out, she could see him standing on the +ground below, his arms held out towards her. + +"Jump!" he called. + +But she shrank from the drop into the darkness. + +"I can't!" she sobbed helplessly. "I can't!" + +He approached a step nearer, and the light from some torch close at hand +flashed onto his uplifted face. She could see it clearly, tense and set, +the blue eyes blazing. + +"God in heaven!" he cried furiously. "Do what I tell you. _Jump_!" + +The fierce, imperative command startled her into action, and she jumped +blindly, recklessly, out into the night. There was one endless moment of +uncertainty, and then she felt herself caught by arms like steel and set +gently upon the ground. + +"You little fool!" he said thickly. He was breathing heavily as though +he had been running; she could feel his chest heave as, for an instant, +he held her pressed against him. + +He released her almost immediately, and taking her by the arm, led her to +the embankment, where he stripped off his overcoat and wrapped it about +her. But she was hardly conscious of what he was doing, for suddenly +everything seemed to be spinning round her. The lights of the torches +bobbed up and down in a confused blur of twinkling stars, the sound of +voices and the trampling of feet came faintly to her ears as from a great +way off, while the grim, black bulk of the piled-up coaches of the train +seemed to lean nearer and nearer, until finally it swooped down on top of +her and she sank into a sea of impenetrable darkness. + +The next thing she remembered was finding a flask held to her lips, while +a familiar voice commanded her to drink. She shook her head feebly. + +"Drink it at once," the voice insisted. "Do you hear?" + +And because her mind held some dim recollection of the futility of +gainsaying that peremptory voice, she opened her lips obediently and let +the strong spirit trickle down her throat. + +"Better now?" queried the voice. + +She nodded, and then, complete consciousness returning, she sat up. + +"I'm all right now--really," she said. + +The owner of the voice regarded her critically. + +"Yes, I think you'll do now," he returned. "Stay where you are. I'm +going along to see if I can help, but I'll come back to you again." + +The darkness swallowed him up, and Diana sat very still on the +embankment, vibrantly conscious in every nerve of her of the man's cool, +dominating personality. Gradually her thoughts returned to the +happenings of the moment, and then the full horror of what had occurred +came back to her. She began to cry weakly. But the tears did her good, +bringing with them relief from the awful shock which had strained her +nerves almost to breaking-point, and with return to a more normal state +of mind came the instinctive wish to help--to do something for those who +must be suffering so pitiably in the midst of that scarred heap of +wreckage on the line. + +She scrambled to her feet and made her way nearer to the mass of crumpled +coaches that reared up black against the shimmer of the starlit sky. No +one took any notice of her; all who were unhurt were working to save and +help those who had been less fortunate, and every now and then some +broken wreck of humanity was carried past her, groaning horribly, or +still more horribly silent. + +Suddenly a woman brushed against her--a young woman of the working +classes, her plump face sagging and mottled with terror, her eyes +staring, her clothes torn and dishevelled. + +"My chiel, my li'l chiel!" she kept on muttering. "Wur be 'ee? Wur be +'ee?" + +Reaching her through the dreadful strangeness of disaster, the soft Devon +dialect smote on Diana's ears with a sense of dear familiarity that was +almost painful. She laid her hand on the woman's arm. + +"What is it?" she asked. "Have you lost your child?" + +The woman looked at her vaguely, bewildered by the surrounding horror. + +"Iss. Us dunnaw wur er's tu; er's dade, I reckon. Aw, my li'l, li'l +chiel!" And she rocked to and fro, clutching her shawl more closely +round her. + +Diana put a few brief questions and elicited that the woman and her child +had both been taken unhurt out of a third-class carriage--of the ten +souls who had occupied the compartment the only ones to escape injury. + +"I'll go and look for him," she told her. "I expect he has only strayed +away and lost sight of you amongst all these people. Four years old and +wearing a little red coat, did you say? I'll find him for you; you sit +down here." And she pushed the poor distraught creature down on a pile +of shattered woodwork. "Don't be frightened," she added reassuringly. +"I feel certain he's quite safe." + +She disappeared into the throng, and after searching for a while came +face to face with her fellow traveller, carrying a chubby, red-coated +little boy in his arms. He stopped abruptly. + +"What in the world are you doing?" he demanded angrily. "You've no +business here. Go back--you'll only see some ghastly sights if you come, +and you can't help. Why didn't you stay where I told you to?" + +But Diana paid no heed. + +"I want that child," she said eagerly, holding out her arms. "The +mother's nearly out of her mind--she thinks he's killed, and I told her +I'd go and look for him." + +"Is this the child? . . . All right, then, I'll carry him along for you. +Where did you leave his mother?" + +Diana led the way to where the woman was sitting, still rocking herself +to and fro in dumb misery. At the sight of the child she leapt up and +clutched him in her arms, half crazy with joy and gratitude, and a few +sympathetic tears stole down Diana's cheeks as she and her fellow-helper +moved away, leaving the mother and child together. + +The man beside her drew her arm brusquely within his. + +"You're not going near that--that hell again. Do you hear?" he said +harshly. + +His face looked white and drawn; it was smeared with dirt, and his +clothes were torn and dishevelled. Here and there his coat was stained +with dark, wet patches. Diana shuddered a little, guessing what those +patches were. + +"_You've_ been helping!" she burst out passionately. "Did you want me to +sit still and do nothing while--while that is going on just below?" And +she pointed to where the injured were being borne along on roughly +improvised stretchers. A sob climbed to her throat and her voice shook +as she continued: "I was safe, you see, thanks to you. And--and I felt +I must go and help a little, if I could." + +"Yes--I suppose you would feel that," he acknowledged, a sort of grudging +approval in his tones. "But there's nothing more one can do now. An +emergency train is coming soon and then we shall get away--those that are +left of us. But what's this?"--he felt her sleeve--"Your arm is all +wet." He pushed up the loose coat-sleeve and swung the light of his +lantern upon the thin silk of her blouse beneath it. It was caked with +blood, while a trickle of red still oozed slowly from under the wristband +and ran down over her hand. + +"You're hurt! Why didn't you tell me?" + +"It's nothing," she answered. "I cut it against the glass of the +carriage window. It doesn't hurt much." + +"Let me look at it. Here, take the lantern." + +Diana obeyed, laughing a little nervously, and he turned back her sleeve, +exposing a nasty red gash on the slender arm. It was only a surface +wound however, and hastily procuring some water he bathed it and tied it +up with his handkerchief. + +"There, I think that'll be all right now," he said, pulling down her +sleeve once more and fastening the wristband with deft fingers. "The +emergency train will be here directly, so I'm going back to our +compartment to pick up your belongings. I can climb in, I fancy. What +did you leave behind?" + +Diana laughed. + +"What a practical man you are! Fancy thinking of such things as a +forgotten coat and a dressing-bag when we've just escaped with our lives!" + +"Well, you may as well have them," he returned gruffly. "Wait here." +And he disappeared into the darkness, returning presently with the +various odds and ends which she had left in the carriage. + +Soon afterwards the emergency train came up, and those who could took +their places, whilst the injured were lifted by kindly, careful hands +into the ambulance compartment. The train drew slowly away from the +scene of the accident, gradually gathering speed, and Diana, worn out +with strain and excitement, dozed fitfully to the rhythmic rumbling of +the wheels. + +She woke with a start to find that the train was slowing down and her +companion gathering his belongings together preparatory to departure. +She sprang up and slipping off the overcoat she was still wearing, handed +it back to him. He seemed reluctant to take it from her. + +"Shall you be warm enough?" he asked doubtfully. + +"Oh, yes. It's only half-an-hour's run from here to Craiford Junction, +and there they'll meet me with plenty of wraps." She hesitated a moment, +then went on shyly: "I can't thank you properly for all you've done." + +"Don't," he said curtly. "It was little enough. But I'm glad I was +there." + +The train came to a standstill, and she held out her hand. + +"Good-bye," she said, very low. + +He wrung her hand, and, releasing it abruptly, lifted his hat and +disappeared amid the throng of people on the platform. And it was not +until the train had steamed out of the station again that she remembered +that she did not even know his name. + +Very slowly she unknotted the handkerchief from about her arm, and laying +the blood-stained square of linen on her knee, proceeded to examine each +corner carefully. In one of them she found the initials M.E., very +finely worked. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +CRAILING RECTORY + +The early morning mist still lingered in the valleys and clung about +the river banks as the Reverend Alan Stair, returning from his +matutinal dip in the sea, swung up the lane and pushed open the door +giving access from it to the Rectory grounds. The little wooden door, +painted green and overhung with ivy, was never bolted. In the +primitive Devon village of Crailing such a precaution would have been +deemed entirely superfluous; indeed, the locking of the door would +probably have been regarded by the villagers as equivalent to a +reflection on their honesty, and should the passage of time ultimately +bring to the ancient rectory a fresh parson, obsessed by conventional +opinion concerning the uses of bolts and bars, it is probable that the +inhabitants of Crailing will manifest their disapproval in the simple +and direct fashion of the Devon rustic--by placidly boycotting the +church of their fathers and betaking themselves to the chapel round the +corner. The little green door, innocent of lock and key, stood as a +symbol of the close ties that bound the rector and his flock together, +and woe betide the iconoclast who should venture to tamper with it. + +The Rectory itself was a picturesque old house with latticed windows +and thatched roof; the climbing roses, which in summer clothed it in a +garment of crimson and pink and white, now shrouded its walls with a +network of brown stems and twigs tipped with emerald buds. Beneath the +warmth of the morning sun the damp was steaming from the +weather-stained thatch in a cloud of pearly mist, while the starlings, +nesting under the overhanging eaves, broke into a harsh twittering of +alarm at the sound of the Rectory footsteps. + +Alan Stair was a big, loose-limbed son of Anak, with little of the +conventional cleric in his appearance as he came striding across the +dewy lawn, clad in a disreputable old suit of grey tweeds and with his +bathing-towel slung around his shoulders. His hands were thrust deep +into his pockets, and since he had characteristically omitted to +provide himself with a hat, his abundant brown hair was rumpled and +tossed by the wind, giving him an absurdly boyish air. + +Arrived at the flagged path which ran the whole length of the house he +sent up a Jovian shout, loud enough to arouse the most confirmed of +sluggards from his slumbers, and one of the upper lattice windows flew +open in response. + +"That you, Dad?" called a fresh young voice. + +"Sounds like it, doesn't it?" he laughed back. "Come down and give me +my breakfast. There's a beautifully assorted smell of coffee and fried +bacon wafting out from the dining room, and I can't bear it any longer." + +An unfeeling giggle from above was the only answer, and the Reverend +Alan made his way into the house, pausing to sling his bath-towel +picturesquely over one of the pegs of the hat-stand as he passed +through the hall. + +He was incurably disorderly, and only the strenuous efforts of his +daughter Joan kept the habit within bounds. Since the death of her +mother, nearly ten years ago, she had striven to fill her place and to +be to this lovable, grown-up boy who was her father all that his adored +young wife had been. And so far as material matters were concerned, +she had succeeded. She it was who usually found the MS. of his sermon +when, just as the bells were calling to service, he would come leaping +up the stairs, three at a time, to inform her tragically that it was +lost; she who saw to it that his meals were not forgotten in the +exigencies of his parish work, and who supervised his outward man to +the last detail--otherwise, in one of his frequent fits of +absent-mindedness, he would have been quite capable of presenting +himself at church in the identical grey tweeds he was now wearing. + +Yet notwithstanding the irrepressible note of youth about him, which +called forth a species of "mothering" from every woman of his +acquaintance, Alan Stair was a man to whom people instinctively turned +for counsel. A child in the material things of this world, he was a +giant in spiritual development--broad-minded and tolerant, his religion +spiced with a sense of humour and deepened by a sympathetic +understanding of frail human nature. And it was to him that Ralph +Quentin, when on his death-bed, had confided the care of his motherless +little daughter, Diana, appointing him her sole guardian and trustee. + +The two men had been friends from boyhood, and perhaps no one had +better understood than Ralph, who had earlier suffered a similar loss, +the terrible blank which the death of his wife had occasioned in +Stair's life. The fellowship of suffering had drawn the two men +together in a way that nothing else could have done, so that when +Quentin made known his final wishes concerning his daughter, Alan Stair +had gladly accepted the charge laid upon him, and Diana, then a child +of ten, had made her permanent home at Crailing Rectory, speedily +coming to look upon her guardian as a beloved elder brother, and upon +his daughter, who was but two years her senior, as her greatest friend. + +From the point of view of the Stairs themselves, the arrangement was +not without its material advantages. Diana had inherited three hundred +a year of her own, and the sum she contributed to "cover the cost of +her upkeep," as she laughingly termed it when she was old enough to +understand financial matters, was a very welcome addition to the +slender resources provided by the value of the living. + +But even had the circumstances been quite other than they were, so that +the fulfilment of Ralph Quentin's last behest, instead of being an +assistance to the household exchequer, had proved to be a drain upon +it, Alan Stair would have acted in precisely the same way--for the +simple reason that there was never any limit to his large conception of +the meaning of the word friendship and of its liabilities. + +Diana had speedily carved for herself a niche of her own in the Rectory +household, so that when the exigencies of her musical training, as +viewed through Carlo Baroni's eyes, had necessitated her departure from +Crailing for a whole year, Stair and his daughter had felt her absence +keenly, and they welcomed her back with open arms. + +The account of the railway accident which had attended her homeward +journey had filled them with anxiety lest she should suffer from the +effects of shock, and they had insisted that she should breakfast in +bed this first morning of her arrival, inclining to treat her rather as +though she were a semi-invalid. + +"Have you been to see Diana?" asked Stair anxiously, as his daughter +joined him in the dining-room. + +She shook her head. + +"No need. Diana's been in to see me! There's no breakfast in bed +about her; she'll be down directly. Even her arm doesn't pain her +much." + +Stair laughed. + +"What a girl it is!" he exclaimed. "One would have expected her to +feel a bit shaken up after her experience yesterday." + +"I fancy something else must have happened beside the railway +accident," observed Joan wisely. "Something interesting enough to have +outweighed the shock of the smash-up. She's in quite absurdly good +spirits for some unknown reason." + +The Rector chuckled. + +"Perhaps a gallant rescuer was added to the experience, eh?" he said. + +"Perhaps so," replied his daughter, faintly smiling as she proceeded to +pour out the coffee. + +Jean Stair was a typical English country girl, strictly tailor-made in +her appearance, with a predisposition towards stiff linen collars and +neat ties. In figure she was slight almost to boyishness and she had +no pretensions whatever to good looks, but there was nevertheless +something frank and wholesome and sweet about her--something of the +charm of a nice boy--that counterbalanced her undeniable plainness. As +she had once told Diana: "I'm not beautiful, so I'm obliged to be good. +You're not compelled, by the same necessity, and I may yet see you +sliding down the primrose path, whereas I shall inevitably end my days +in the odour of sanctity--probably a parish worker to some celibate +vicar!" + +The Rector and Joan were half-way through their breakfast when a light +step sounded in the hall outside, and a minute later the door flew open +to admit Diana. + +"Good morning, dear people," she exclaimed gaily. "Am I late? It +looks like it from the devastated appearance of the bacon dish. Pobs, +you've eaten all the breakfast!" And, she dropped, a light kiss on the +top of the Rector's head. "Ugh! Your hair's all wet with sea-water. +Why don't you dry yourself when you take a bath, Pobs dear? I'll come +with you to-morrow--not to dry you, I mean, but just to bathe." + +Stair surveyed her with a twinkle as he retrieved her plate of kidneys +and bacon from the hearth where it had been set down to keep hot. + +"Diana, I regret to observe that your conversation lacks the flavour of +respectability demanded by your present circumstances," he remarked. +"I fear you'll never be an ornament to any clerical household." + +"No. _Pas mon metier_. Respectability isn't in the least a _sine qua +non_ for a prima donna--far from it!" + +Stair chuckled. + +"To hear you talk, no one would imagine that in reality you were the +most conventional of prudes," he flung at her. + +"Oh, but I'm growing out of it," she returned hopefully. "Yesterday, +for instance, I palled up with a perfectly strange young man. We +conversed together as though we had known each other all our lives, +shared the same table for dinner--" + +"You didn't?" broke in Joan, a trifle shocked. + +Diana nodded serenely. + +"Indeed I did. And what was the reward of my misdeeds? Why, there he +was at hand to save me when the smash came!" + +"Who was he?" asked Joan curiously. "Any one from this part of the +world?" + +"I haven't the faintest idea," replied Diana. "I actually never +inquired to whom I was indebted for my life and the various other +trifles which he rescued for me from the wreck of our compartment. The +only clue I have is the handkerchief he bound round my arm. It's very +bluggy and it's marked M.E." + +"M.E.," repeated the Rector. "Well, there must be plenty of M.E.'s in +the world. Did he get out at Craiford?" + +"He didn't," said Diana. "No; at present he is 'wropt in mist'ry,' but +I feel sure we shall run up against each other again. I told him so." + +"Did you, indeed?" Stair laughed. "And was he pleased at the prospect?" + +"Well, frankly, Pobs, I can't say he seemed enraptured. On the +contrary, he appeared to regard it in the light of a highly improbable +and quite undesirable contingency." + +"He must be lacking in appreciation," murmured Stair mockingly, +pinching her cheek as he passed her on his way to select a pipe from +the array that adorned the chimney-piece. + +"Are you going 'parishing' this morning?" inquired Diana, as she +watched him fill and light his pipe. + +"Yes, I promised to visit Susan Gurney--she's laid up with rheumatism, +poor old soul." + +"Then I'll drive you, shall I? I suppose you've still got Tommy and +the ralli-cart?" + +"Yes," replied Stair gravely. "Notwithstanding diminishing tithes and +increasing taxes, Tommy is still left to us. Apparently he thrives on +a penurious diet, for he is fatter than ever." + +Accordingly, half an hour later, the two set out behind the fat pony on +a round of parochial visits. Underneath the seat of the trap reposed +the numerous little packages of tea and tobacco with which the Rector, +whose hand was always in his pocket, rarely omitted to season his +visits to the sick among his parishioners. + +"And why not?" he would say, when charged with pampering them by some +starchy member of his congregation who considered that parochial +visitation should be embellished solely by the delivery of appropriate +tracts. "And why not pamper them a bit, poor souls? A pipe of baccy +goes a long way towards taking your thoughts off a bad leg--as I found +out for myself when I was laid up with an attack of the gout my +maternal grandfather bequeathed me." + +Whilst the Rector paid his visits, Diana waited outside the various +cottages, driving the pony-trap slowly up and down the road, and +stopping every now and again to exchange a few words with one or +another of the village folk as they passed. + +She was frankly delighted to be home again, and was experiencing that +peculiar charm of the Devonshire village which lies in the fact that +you may go away from it for several years and return to find it almost +unchanged. In the wilds of Devon affairs move leisurely, and such +changes as do occur creep in so gradually as to be almost +imperceptible. No brand-new houses start into existence with +lightning-like rapidity, for the all-sufficient reason that in such +sparsely populated districts the enterprising builder would stand an +excellent chance of having his attractive villa residences left empty +on his hands. No; new houses are built to order, if at all. In the +same way, it is rare to find a fresh shop spring into being in a small +village, and should it happen, in all probability a year or two will +see the shutters up and the disgruntled proprietor departing in search +of pastures new. For the villagers who have always dealt with the +local butcher, baker, and grocer, and whose fathers have probably dealt +with their fathers before them, are not easily to be cajoled into +transferring their custom--and certainly not to the establishment of +any one who has had the misfortune to be born outside the confines of +the county, and is therefore to be briefly summed up in the one damning +word "vurriner." [1] + +So that Diana, returning to Crailing for a brief holiday after a year's +absence, found the tiny fishing village quite unchanged, and this fact +imparted an air almost of unreality to the twelve busy, eventful months +which had intervened. She felt as if she had never been away, as +though the Diana Quentin who had been living in London and studying +singing under the greatest master of the day were some one quite apart +from the girl who had passed so many quiet, happy years at Crailing +Rectory. + +The new and unaccustomed student's life, the two golden visits which +she had paid to Italy, the introduction into a milieu of clever, gifted +people all struggling to make the most of their talents, had been such +an immense change from the placid, humdrum existence which had preceded +it, that it still held for her an almost dreamlike charm of novelty, +and this was intensified at the present moment by her return to +Crailing to find everything going on just in the same old way, +precisely as though there had been no break at all. + +As though to convince herself that the student life in London was a +substantial reality, and not a mere figment of the imagination, she +hummed a few bars of a song, and as she listened to the deep, rich +notes of her voice, poised with that sureness which only comes of +first-class training, she smiled a little, reflecting that if nothing +else had changed, here at least was a palpable outcome of that +dreamlike year. + +"Bravo!" The Rector's cheery tones broke in upon her thoughts as he +came out from a neighbouring gateway and swung himself up into the trap +beside her. "Di, I've got to hear that voice before long. What does +Signor Baroni say about it?" + +"Oh, I think he's quite pleased," she answered, whipping up the fat +pony, who responded reluctantly. "But he's a fearful martinet. He +nearly frightens me to death when he gets into one of his royal Italian +rages--though he's always particularly sweet afterwards! Pobs, I +wonder who my man in the train was?" she added inconsequently. + +The Rector looked at her narrowly. He had wondered more than a little +why the shock of the railway accident had apparently affected her so +slightly, and although he had joked with Joan about some possible +"gallant rescuer" who might have diverted her thoughts he had really +attributed it partly to the youthful resiliency of Diana's nature, and +partly to the fact that when one has narrowly escaped a serious injury, +or death itself, the sense of relief is so intense as frequently to +overpower for the moment every other feeling. + +But now he was thrown back on the gallant rescuer theory; obviously the +man, whoever he was, had impressed himself rather forcibly on Diana's +mind, and the Rector acknowledged that this was almost inevitable from +the circumstances in which they had been thrown together. + +"You know," continued the girl, "I'm certain I've seen him before--the +day I first went to Baroni to have my voice tested. It was in +Grellingham Place, and all my songs blew away up the street, and I'm +positive M.E. was the man who rescued them for me." + +"Rescuing seems to be his hobby," commented the Rector dryly. "Did you +remind him that you had met before?" + +"Yes, and he wouldn't recollect it." + +"_Wouldn't_?" + +"No, wouldn't. I have a distinct feeling that he did remember all +about it, and did recognise me again, but he wouldn't acknowledge it +and politely assured me I must be mistaken." + +The Rector smiled. + +"Perhaps he has a prejudice against making the promiscuous acquaintance +of beautiful young women in trains." + +Diana sniffed. + +"Oh, well, if he didn't think I was good enough to know--" She +paused. "He _had_ rather a superior way with him, a sort of +independent, lordly manner, as though no one had a right to question +anything he chose to do. And he was in a first-class reserved +compartment too." + +"Oh, was he? And did you force your way into his reserved compartment, +may I ask?" + +Diana giggled. + +"I didn't force my way into it; I was pitchforked in by a porter. The +train was packed, and I was late. Of course I offered to go and find +another seat, but there wasn't one anywhere." + +"So the young man yielded to _force majeure_ and allowed you to travel +with him?" said the Rector, adding seriously: "I'm very thankful he +did. To think of you--alone--in that awful smash! . . . This +morning's paper says there were forty people killed." + +Diana gave a little nervous shiver, and then quite suddenly began to +cry. + +Stair quietly took the reins from her hand, and patted her shoulder, +but he made no effort to check her tears. He had felt worried all +morning by her curious detachment concerning the accident; it was +unnatural, and he feared that later on the shock which she must have +received might reveal itself in some abnormal nervousness regarding +railway travelling. These tears would bring relief, and he welcomed +them, allowing her to cry, comfortably leaning against his shoulder, as +the pony meandered up the hilly lane which led to the Rectory. + +At the gates they both descended from the trap, and Stair was preparing +to lead the pony into the stable-yard when Diana suddenly flung her +arms round him, kissing him impulsively. + +"Oh, Pobs, dear," she said half-laughing, half-crying. "You're such a +darling--you always understand everything. I feel heaps better now, +thank you." + + +[1] Anglice: foreigner. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE SECOND MEETING + +Diana threw hack the bedclothes and thrust an extremely pretty but +reluctant foot over the edge of the bed. She did not experience in the +least that sensation of exhilaration with which the idea of getting up +invariably seems to inspire the heroine of a novel, prompting her to +spring lightly from her couch and trip across to the window to see what +sort of weather the author has provided. On the contrary, she was +sorely tempted to snuggle down again amongst the pillows, but the +knowledge that it wanted only half an hour to breakfast-time exercised +a deterrent influence and she made her way with all haste to the +bath-room, somewhat shamefully pleased to reflect that, being Easter +Sunday, Pobs would be officiating at the early service, so that she +would escape the long trudge down to the sea with him for their usual +morning swim. + +By the time she had bathed and dressed, however, she felt better able +to face the day with a cheerful spirit, and the sun, streaming in +through the diamond panes of her window, added a last vivifying touch +and finally sent her downstairs on the best of terms with herself and +the world at large. + +There was no one about, as Joan had accompanied her father to church, +so Diana sauntered out on to the flagged path and paced idly up and +down, waiting for their return. The square, grey tower of the church, +hardly more than a stone's throw distant from the Rectory, was visible +through a gap in the trees where a short cut, known as the "church +path" wound its way through the copse that hedged the garden. It was +an ancient little church, boasting a very beautiful thirteenth century +window, which, in a Philistine past, had been built up and rough-cast +outside, and had only been discovered in the course of some repairs +that were being made to one of the walls. The inhabitants of Crailing +were very proud of that thirteenth century window when it was +disinterred; they had a proprietary feeling about it--since, after all, +it had really belonged to them for a little matter of seven centuries +or so, although they had been unaware of the fact. + +Below the slope of the Rectory grounds the thatched roofs of the +village bobbed into view, some gleaming golden in all the pride of +recent thatching, others with their crown of straw mellowed by sun and +rain to a deeper colour and patched with clumps of moss, vividly green +as an emerald. + +The village itself straggled down to the edge of the sea in untidy +fashion, its cob-walled cottages in some places huddling together as +though for company, in others standing far apart, with spaces of waste +land between them where you might often see the women sitting mending +the fishing nets and gossiping together as they worked. + +Diana's eyes wandered affectionately over the picturesque little +houses; she loved every quaint, thatched roof among them, but more than +all she loved the glimpse of the sea that lay beyond them, pierced by +the bold headland of red sandstone, Culver Point, which thrust itself +into the blue of the water like an arm stretched out to shelter the +little village nestling in its curve from the storms of the Atlantic. + +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. + +"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 +something very delightful is going to happen to me to-day--though, to +be sure, Sunday isn't usually a day when exciting things occur." + +"Dreams generally go by contraries," observed Joan sagely. "And I +rather think the same applies to presentiments. I know that whenever I +have felt a comfortable assurance that everything was going smoothly, +it has generally been followed by one of the servants giving notice, or +the bursting of the kitchen boiler, or something equally disagreeable." + +Diana gurgled unfeelingly. + +"Oh, those are merely the commonplaces of existence," she replied. "I +was meaning"--waving her hand expansively--"big things." + +"And when you've got your own house, my dear," retorted Joan, "you'll +find those commonplaces of existence assume alarmingly big proportions." + +Soon after Stair had finished his after-breakfast pipe, the chiming of +the bells announced that it was time to prepare for church. The +Rectory pew was situated close to the pulpit, at right angles to the +body of the church, and Diana and Joan took their places one at either +end of it. As the former was wont to remark: "It's such a comfort when +there's no competition for the corner seats." + +The organ had ceased playing, and the words "_Dearly beloved_" had +already fallen from the Rector's lips, when the churchdoor opened once +again to admit some late arrivals. Instinctively Diana looked up from +her prayer-book, and, as her glance fell upon the newcomers, the pupils +of her eyes dilated until they looked almost black, while a wave of +colour rushed over her face, dyeing it scarlet from brow to throat. + +Two ladies were coming up the aisle, the one bordering on middle age, +the other young and of uncommon beauty, but it was upon neither of +these that Diana's startled eyes were fixed. Behind them, and +evidently of their party, came a tall, fair man whose supple length of +limb and very blue eyes sent a little thrill of recognition through her +veins. + +It was her fellow-traveller of that memorable journey down from town! + +She closed her eyes a moment. Once again she could hear the horrifying +crash as the engine hurled itself against the track that blocked the +metals, feel the swift pall of darkness close about her, rife with a +thousand terrors, and then, out of that hideous night, the grip of +strong arms folded round her, and a voice, harsh with fear, beating +against her ears: + +"Are you hurt? . . . My God, are you hurt?" + +When she opened her eyes again, the little party of three had taken +their places and were composedly following the service. Apparently he +had not seen her, and Diana shrank a little closer into the friendly +shadow of the pulpit, feeling for the moment an odd, nervous fear of +encountering his eyes. + +But she soon realised that she need not have been alarmed. He was +evidently quite unaware of her proximity, for his glance never once +strayed in her direction, and, gradually gaining courage as she +appreciated this, Diana ventured to let her eyes turn frequently during +the service towards the pew where the newcomers were sitting. + +That they were strangers to the neighbourhood she was sure; she had +certainly never seen either of the two women before. The elder of the +two was a plump, round-faced little lady, with bright brown eyes, and +pretty, crinkly brown hair lightly powdered with grey. She was very +fashionably dressed, and the careful detail of her toilet pointed to no +lack of means. The younger woman, too, was exquisitely turned out, but +there was something so individual about her personality that it +dominated everything else, relegating her clothes to a very secondary +position. As in the case of an unusually beautiful gem, it was the +jewel itself which impressed one, rather than the setting which framed +it round. + +She was very fair, with quantities of pale golden hair rather +elaborately dressed, and her eyes were blue--not the keen, brilliant +blue of those of the man beside her, but a soft blue-grey, like the sky +on a misty summer's morning. + +Her small, exquisite features were clean-cut as a cameo, and she +carried herself with a little touch of hauteur--an air of aloofness, as +it were. There was nothing ungracious about it, but it was +unmistakably there--a slightly emphasised hint of personal dignity. + +Diana regarded her with some perplexity; the girl's face was vaguely +familiar to her, yet at the same time she felt perfectly certain that +she had never seen her before. She wondered whether she were any +relation to the man with her, but there was no particular resemblance +between the two, except that both were fair and bore themselves with a +certain subtle air of distinction that rather singled them out from +amongst their fellows. + +In repose, Diana noticed, the man's face was grave almost to sternness, +and there was a slightly worn look about it as of one who had passed +through some fiery discipline of experience and had forced himself to +meet its demands. The lines around the mouth, and the firm closing of +the lips, held a suggestion of suffering, but there was no rebellion in +the face, rather a look of inflexible endurance. + +Diana wondered what lay behind that curiously controlled expression, +and the memory of certain words he had let fall during their journey +together suddenly recurred to her with a new significance attached to +them. . . . "Just as though we had any too many pleasures in life!" he +had said. And again: "Oh, for that! If we could have what we wanted +in this world! . . ." + +Uttered in his light, half-bantering tones, the bitter flavour of the +words had passed her by, but now, as she studied the rather stern set +of his features, they returned to her with fresh meaning and she felt +that their mocking philosophy was to a certain extent indicative of the +man's attitude towards life. + +So absorbed was she in her thoughts that the stir and rustle of the +congregation issuing from their seats at the conclusion of the service +came upon her in the light of a surprise; she had not realised that the +service--in which she had been taking a reprehensible perfunctory +part--had drawn to its close, and she almost jumped when Joan nudged +her unobtrusively and whispered:-- + +"Come along. I believe you're half asleep." + +She shook her head, smiling, and gathering up her gloves and +prayer-book, she followed Joan down the aisle and out into the +churchyard where people were standing about in little groups, +exchanging the time of day with that air of a renewal of interest in +worldly topics which synchronises with the end of Lent. + +The Rector had not yet appeared, and as Joan was chatting with Mrs. +Mowbray, the local doctor's wife, Diana, who had an intense dislike for +Mrs. Mowbray and all her works--there were six of the latter, ranging +from a lanky girl of twelve to a fat baby still in the perambulator +stage--made her way out of the churchyard and stood waiting by the +beautiful old lichgate, which, equally with the thirteenth century +window, was a source of pride and satisfaction to the good folk of +Crailing. + +A big limousine had pulled up beside the footpath, and an immaculate +footman was standing by its open door, rug in hand. Diana wondered +idly whose car it could be, and it occurred to her that very probably +it belonged to the strangers who had attended the service that morning. + +A minute later her assumption was confirmed, as the middle-aged lady, +followed by the young, pretty one, came quickly through the lichgate +and entered the car. The footman hesitated, still holding the door +open, and the elder lady leaned forward to say:-- + +"It's all right, Baker. Mr. Errington is walking back." + +Errington! So that was his name--that was what the E. on the +handkerchief stood for! Diana thought she could hazard a reasonable +guess as to why he had elected to walk home. He must have caught sight +of her in church, after all, and it was but natural that, after the +experience they had passed through together, he should wish to renew +his acquaintance with her. When two people have been as near to death +in company as they had been, it can hardly be expected that they will +regard each other in the light of total strangers should they chance to +meet again. + +Hidden from his sight by an intervening yew tree, she watched him +coming down the church path, conscious of a somewhat pleasurable sense +of anticipation, and when he had passed under the lichgate and, turning +to the left, came face to face with her, she bowed and smiled, holding +out her hand. + +To her utter amazement he looked at her without the faintest sign of +recognition on his face, pausing only for the fraction of a second as a +man may when some stranger claims his acquaintance by mistake; then +with a murmured "Pardon!" he raised his hat slightly and passed on. + +Diana's hand dropped slowly to her side. She felt stunned. The thing +seemed incredible. Less than a week ago she and this man had travelled +companionably together in the train, dined at the same table, and +together shared the same dreadful menace which had brought death very +close to both of them, and now he passed her by with the cool stare of +an utter stranger! If he had knocked her down she would hardly have +been more astonished. + +Moreover, it was not as though her companionship had been forced upon +him in the train; he had deliberately sought it. Two people can travel +side by side without advancing a single hairsbreadth towards +acquaintance if they choose. But he had not so chosen--most assuredly +he had not. He had quietly, with a charmingly persuasive insistence, +broken through the conventions of custom, and had subsequently proved +himself as considerate and as thoughtful for her comfort as any actual +friend could have been. More than that, in those moments of tense +excitement, immediately after the collision had occurred, she could +have sworn that real feeling, genuine concern for her safety, had +vibrated in his voice. + +And now, just as deliberately, just as composedly as he had begun the +acquaintance, so he had closed it. + +Diana's cheeks burned with shame. She felt humiliated. Evidently he +had regarded her merely as some one with whom it might he agreeable to +idle away the tedium of a journey--but that was all. It was obviously +his intention that that should be the beginning and the end of it. + +In a dream she crossed the road and, opening the gate that admitted to +the "church path," made her way home alone. She felt she must have a +few minutes to herself before she faced the Rector and Joan at the +Rectory mid-day dinner. Fortunately, they were both in ignorance of +this amazing, stupefying fact that her fellow-traveller--the "gallant +rescuer" about whom Pobs had so joyously chaffed her--had signified in +the most unmistakable fashion that he wanted nothing more to do with +her, and by the time the dinner-bell sounded, Diana had herself well in +hand--so well that she was even able to ask in tones of quite casual +interest if any one knew who were the strangers in church that morning? + +"Yes, Mowbray told me," replied the Rector. "They are the new people +who have taken Red Gables--that pretty little place on the Woodway +Road. The girl is Adrienne de Gervais, the actress, and the elderly +lady is a Mrs. Adams, her chaperon." + +"Oh, then that's why her face seemed so familiar!" exclaimed Diana, a +light breaking in upon her. "I mean Miss de Gervais'--not the +chaperon's. Of course I must have seen her picture in the illustrated +papers dozens of times." + +"And the man who was with them is Max Errington, who writes nearly all +the plays in which she takes part," chimed in Joan. "He's supposed to +be in love with her. That piece of information I acquired from Mrs. +Mowbray." + +"I detest Mrs. Mowbray," said Diana, with sudden viciousness. "She's +the sort of person who has nothing whatever to talk about and spends +hours doing it." + +The others laughed. + +"She's rather a gas-bag, I must admit," acknowledged Stair. "But, you +know, a country doctor's wife is usually the emporium for all the local +gossip. It's expected of her." + +"Then I'm sure Mrs. Mowbray will never disappoint any one. She fully +comes up to expectations," observed Diana grimly. + +"I suppose we shall have to call on these new people at Red Gables, +Dad?" asked Joan, after a brief interval. + +Diana bent her head suddenly over her plate to hide the scarlet flush +which flew into her cheeks at the suggestion. She would _not_ call +upon them--a thousand times no! Max Errington had shown her very +distinctly in what estimation he held the honour of her friendship, and +he should never have the chance of believing she had tried to thrust it +on him. + +"Well"--the Rector was replying leisurely to Joan's inquiry--"I +understand they are only going to be at Red Gables now and then--when +Miss de Gervais wants a rest from her professional work, I expect. But +still, as they have come to our church and are strangers in the +district, it would perhaps be neighbourly to call, wouldn't it?" + +"Can't you call on them, Pobs?" suggested Diana, "A sort of 'rectorial' +visit, you know. That would surely be sufficient." + +The Sector hesitated. + +"I don't know about that, Di. Don't you think it would look rather +unfriendly on the part of you girls? Rather snubby, eh?" + +That was precisely what Diana, had thought, and the reflection had +afforded her no small satisfaction. She wanted to hit back--and hit +hard--and now Pobs' kindly, hospitable nature was unconsciously putting +the brake on the wheel of retribution. + +She shrugged her shoulders with an air of indifference. + +"Oh, well, you and Joan can call. I don't think actresses, and authors +who love them and write plays for them, are much in my line," she +replied distantly. + +It would seem as though Joan's dictum that presentiments, like dreams, +go by contraries, had been founded upon the rock of experience, for, in +truth, Diana's premonition that something delightful was about to +happen to her had been fulfilled in a sorry fashion. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE AFTERMATH OF AN ADVENTURE + +Diana awoke with a start. Before sleep had overtaken her she had been +lying on a shallow slope of sand, leaning against a rock, with her elbow +resting on its flat surface and her book propped up in front of her. +Gradually the rhythmic rise and fall of the waves on the shore had lulled +her into slumber--the _plop_ as they broke in eddies of creaming foam, +and then the sibilant _hush-sh-sh_--like a long-drawn sigh--as the water +receded only to gather itself afresh into a crested billow. + +Scarcely more than half awake she sat up and stared about her, dreamily +wondering how she came to be there. She felt very stiff, and the arm on +which she had been leaning ached horribly. She rubbed it a little, dully +conscious of the pain, and as the blood began to course through the veins +again, the sharp, pricking sensation commonly known as "pins and needles" +aroused her effectually, and she recollected that she had walked out to +Culver Point and established herself in one of the numerous little bays +that fringed the foot of the great red cliff, intending to spend a +pleasant afternoon in company with a new novel. And then the Dustman +(idling about until his duties proper should commence in the evening) had +come by and touched her eyelids and she had fallen fast asleep. + +But she was thoroughly wide awake now, and she looked round her with a +rather startled expression, realising that she must have slept for some +considerable time, for the sun, which had been high in the heavens, had +already dipped towards the horizon and was shedding a rosy track of light +across the surface of the water. The tide, too, had come up a long way +since she had dozed off into slumber, and waves were now breaking only a +few yards distant from her feet. + +She cast a hasty glance to right and left, where the arms of the little +cove stretched out to meet the sea, strewn with big boulders clothed in +shell and seaweed. But there were no rocks to be seen. The grey water +was lapping lazily against the surface of the cliff itself and she was +cut off on either side. + +For a minute or so her heart beat unpleasantly fast; then, with a quick +sense of relief, she recollected that only at spring tides was the little +bay where she stood entirely under water. There was no danger, she +reflected, but nevertheless her position was decidedly unenviable. It +was not yet high tide, so it would be some hours at least before she +would be able to make her way home, and meanwhile the sun was sinking +fast, it was growing unpleasantly cold, and she was decidedly hungry. In +the course of another hour or two she would probably be hungrier still, +but with no nearer prospect of dinner, while the Rector and Joan would be +consumed with anxiety as to what had become of her. + +Anxiously she scanned the sea, hoping she might sight some homing +fishing-boat which she could hail, but no welcome red or brown sail broke +the monotonous grey waste of water, and in hopes of warming herself a +little she began to walk briskly up and down the little beach still +keeping a sharp look-out at sea for any passing boat. + +An interminable hour crawled by. The sun dipped a little lower, flinging +long streamers of scarlet and gold across the sea. Far in the blue vault +of the sky a single star twinkled into view, while a little sighing +breeze arose and whispered of coming night. + +Diana shivered in her thin blouse. She had brought no coat with her, +and, now that the mist was rising, she felt chilled to the bone, and she +heartily anathematised her carelessness for getting into such a scrape. + +And then, all at once, across the water came the welcome sound of a human +voice:-- + +"Ahoy! Ahoy there!" + +A small brown boat and the figure of the man in it, resting on his oars, +showed sharply etched against the background of the sunset sky. + +Diana waved her handkerchief wildly and the man waved back, promptly +setting the boat with her nose towards the chore and sculling with long, +rhythmic strokes that speedily lessened the distance between him and the +eager figure waiting at the water's edge. + +As he drew nearer, Diana was struck by something oddly familiar in his +appearance, and when he glanced back over his shoulder to gauge his +distance from the shore, she recognised with a sudden shocked sense of +dismay that the man in the boat was none other than Max Errington! + +She retreated a few steps hastily, and stood, waiting, tense with misery +and discomfort. Had it still been possible she would have signalled to +him to go on and leave her; the bare thought of being indebted to him--to +this man who had coolly cut her in the street--for escape from her +present predicament filled her with helpless rage. + +But it was too late. Errington gave a final pull, shipped his oars, and, +as the boat rode in on the top of a wave, leaped out on the shore and +beached her safely. Then he turned and strode towards Diana, his face +wearing just that same concerned, half-angry look that it had done when +he found her, shortly after the railway collision, trying to help the +woman who had lost her child. + +"What in the name of heaven and earth are you doing here?" he demanded +brusquely. + +Apparently he had entirely forgotten the more recent episode of Easter +Sunday and was prepared to scold her roundly, exactly as he had done on +that same former occasion. The humour of the situation suddenly caught +hold of Diana, and for the moment she, too, forgot that she had reason to +be bitterly offended with this man. + +"Waiting for you to rescue me--as usual," she retorted frivolously. "You +seem to be making quite a habit of it." + +He smiled grimly. + +"I'm making a virtue of necessity," he flung back at her. "What on earth +do your people mean by letting you roam about by yourself like this? +You're not fit to be alone! As though a railway accident weren't +sufficient excitement for any average woman, you must needs try to drown +yourself. Are you so particularly anxious to get quit of this world?" + +"Drown myself?" she returned scornfully. "How could I--when the sea +doesn't come up within a dozen yards of the cliff except at spring tide?" + +"And I suppose it hadn't occurred to you that this is a spring tide?" he +said drily. "In another hour or so there'll be six feet of water where +we're standing now." + +The abrupt realisation that once again she had escaped death by so narrow +a margin shook her for a moment, and she swayed a little where she stood, +while her face went suddenly very white. + +In an instant his arm was round her, supporting her. "I oughtn't to have +told you," he said hastily. "Forgive me. You're tired--and, merciful +heavens! child, you're half-frozen. Your teeth are chattering with cold." + +He stripped off his coat and made as though to help her on with it. + +"No--no," she protested. "I shall be quite warm directly. Please put on +your coat again." + +He shook his head, smiling down at her, and taking first one of her arms, +and then the other, he thrust them into the empty sleeves, putting the +coat on her as one would dress a child. + +"I'm used to having my own way," he observed coolly, as he proceeded to +button it round her. + +"But you?--" she faltered, looking at the thin silk of his shirt. + +"I'm not a lady with a beautiful voice that must be taken care of. What +would Signor Baroni say to this afternoon's exploit?" + +"Oh, then you haven't forgotten?" Diana asked curiously. + +The intensely blue eyes swept over her face. + +"No," he replied shortly, "I haven't forgotten." + +In silence he helped her into the boat, and she sat quietly in the stern +as he bent to his oars and sent the little skiff speeding homewards +towards the harbour. + +She felt strangely content. The fact that he had deliberately refused to +recognise her seemed a matter of very small moment now that he had spoken +to her again--scolding her and enforcing her obedience to his wishes in +that oddly masterful way of his, which yet had something of a possessive +tenderness about it that appealed irresistibly to the woman in her. + +Arrived at the quay of the little harbour, he helped her up the steps, +slimy with weed and worn by the ceaseless lapping of the water, and the +firm clasp of his hand on hers conveyed a curious sense of security, +extending beyond just the mere safety of the moment. She had a feeling +that there was something immutably strong and sure about this man--a +calm, steadfast self-reliance to which one could unhesitatingly trust. + +His voice broke in abruptly on her thoughts. + +"My car's waiting at the quayside," he said. "I shall drive you back to +the Rectory." + +Diana assented--not, as she thought to herself with a somewhat wry smile, +that it would have made the very slightest difference had she refused +point-blank. Since he had decided that she was to travel in his car, +travel in it she would, willy-nilly. But as a matter of fact, she was so +tired that she was only too thankful to sink back on to the soft, +luxurious cushions of the big limousine. + +Errington tucked the rugs carefully round her, substituting one of them +for the coat she was wearing, spoke a few words to the chauffeur, and +then seated himself opposite her. + +Diana thought the car seemed to be travelling rather slowly as it began +the steep ascent from the harbour to the Rectory. Possibly the chauffeur +who had taken his master's instructions might have thrown some light on +the subject had he so chosen. + +"Quite warm now?" queried Errington. + +Diana snuggled luxuriously into her corner. + +"Quite, thanks," she replied. "You're rapidly qualifying as a good +Samaritan _par excellence_, thanks to the constant opportunities I afford +you." + +He laughed shortly and relapsed into silence, leaning his elbow on the +cushioned ledge beside him and shading his face with his hand. Beneath +its shelter, the keen blue eyes stared at the girl opposite with an odd, +thwarted expression in their depths. + +Presently Diana spoke again, a tinge of irony in her tones. + +"And--after this--when next we meet . . . are you going to cut me again? +. . . It must have been very tiresome for you, that an unkind fate +insisted on your making my closer acquaintance." + +He dropped his hand suddenly. + +"Oh, forgive me!" he exclaimed, with a quick gesture of deprecation. +"It--it was unpardonable of me . . ." His voice vibrated with some +strong emotion, and Diana regarded him curiously. + +"Then you meant it?" she said slowly. "It was deliberate?" + +He bent his head affirmatively. + +"Yes," he replied. "I suppose you think it unforgivable. And yet--and +yet it would have been better so." + +"Better? But why? I'm generally"--dimpling a little--"considered rather +nice." + +"'Rather nice'?" he repeated, in a peculiar tone. "Oh, yes--that does +not surprise me." + +"And some day," she continued gaily, "although I'm nobody just now, I may +become a really famous person--and then you might be quite happy to know +me!" + +Her eyes danced with mirth as she rallied him. + +He looked at her strangely. + +"No--it can never bring me happiness. . . _Ah, mais jamais_!" he added, +with sudden passion. + +Diana was startled. + +"It--it was horrid of you to cut me," she said in a troubled voice. + +"My punishment lies in your hands," he returned. "When I leave you at +the Rectory--after to-day--you can end our acquaintance if you choose. +And I suppose--you, _will_ choose. It would be contrary to human nature +to throw away such an excellent opportunity for retaliation--feminine +human nature, anyway." + +He spoke with a kind of half-savage raillery, and Diana winced under it. +His moods changed so rapidly that she was bewildered. At one moment +there would be an exquisite gentleness in his manner when he spoke to +her, at the next a contemptuous irony that cut like a whip. + +"Would it be--a punishment?" she asked at last. + +He checked a sudden movement towards her. + +"What do you suppose?" he said quietly. + +"I don't know what to think. If it would be a punishment, why were you +so anxious to take it out of my hands? It was you who ended our +acquaintance on Sunday, remember." + +"Yes, I know. Twice I've closed the door between us, and twice fate has +seen fit to open it again." + +"Twice? . . . Then--then it _was_ you--in Grellingham Place that day?" + +"Yes," he acknowledged simply. + +Diana bent her head to hide the small, secret smile that carved her lips. + +At last, after a pause-- + +"But why--why do you not want to know me?" she asked wonderingly. + +"Not want to?" he muttered below his breath. "God in heaven! _Not want +to_!" His hand moved restlessly. After a minute he answered her, +speaking very gently. + +"Because I think you were born to stand in the sunshine. Some of us +stand always in the shadow; it creeps about our feet, following us +wherever we go. And I would not darken the sunlit places of your life +with the shadow that clings to mine." + +There was an undercurrent of deep sadness in his tones. + +"Can't you--can't you banish the shadow?" faltered Diana. A sense of +tragedy oppressed her. "Life is surely made for happiness," she added, a +little wistfully. + +"Your life, I hope." He smiled across at her. "So don't let us talk any +more about the shadow. Only"--gently--"if I came nearer to you--the +shadow might engulf you, too." He paused, then continued more lightly: +"But if you'll forgive my barbarous incivility of Sunday, +perhaps--perhaps I may be allowed to stand just on the outskirts of your +life--watch you pass by on your road to fame, and toss a flower at your +feet when all the world and his wife are crowding to hear the new _prima +donna_." He had dropped back into the vein of light, ironical mockery +which Diana was learning to recognise as characteristic of the man. It +was like the rapier play of a skilled duellist, his weapon flashing +hither and thither, parrying every thrust of his opponent, and with +consummate ease keeping him ever at a distance. + +"I wonder"--he regarded her with an expression of amused curiosity--"I +wonder whether you would stoop to pick up my flower if I threw one? But, +no"--he answered his own question hastily, giving her no time to +reply--"you would push it contemptuously aside with the point of your +little white slipper, and say to your crowd of admirers standing around +you: 'That flower is the gift of a man--a rough boor of a man--who was +atrociously rude to me once. I don't even value it enough to pick it +up.' Whereupon every one--quite rightly, too!--would cry shame on the +man who had dared to insult so charming a lady--probably adding that if +bad luck befell him it would be no more than he deserved! . . . And I've +no doubt he'll get his desserts," he added carelessly. + +Diana felt the tears very near her eyes and her lip quivered.. This man +had the power of hurting her--wounding her to the quick--with his bitter +raillery. + +When she spoke again her voice shook a little. + +"You are wrong," she said, "quite wrong. I should pick up the flower +and"--steadily--"I should keep it, because it was thrown to me by a man +who had twice done me the greatest service in his power." + +Once again he checked, as if by sheer force of will, a sudden eager +movement towards her. + +"Would you?" he said quickly. "Would you do that? But you would be +mistaken; I should be gaining your kindness under false pretences. The +greatest service in my power would be for me to go away and never see you +again. . . . And, I can't do that--now," he added, his voice vibrating +oddly. + +His eyes held her, and at the sound of that sudden note of passion in his +tone she felt some new, indefinable emotion stir within her that was half +pain, half pleasure. Her eyelids closed, and she stretched out her hands +a little gropingly, almost as if she were trying to ward away something +that threatened her. + +There was appeal in the gesture--a pathetic, half-childish appeal, as +though the shy, virginal youth of her sensed the distant tumult of +awakening passion and would fain delay its coming. + +She was just a frank, whole-hearted girl, knowing nothing of love and its +strange, inevitable claim, but deep within her spoke that instinct, +premonition--call it what you will--which seems in some mysterious way to +warn every woman when the great miracle of love is drawing near. It is +as though Love's shadow fell across her heart and she were afraid to turn +and face him--shrinking with the terror of a trapped wild thing from +meeting his imperious demand. + +Errington, watching her, saw the childish gesture, the quiver of her +mouth, the soft fall of the shadowed lids, and with a swift, impetuous +movement he leaned forward and caught her by the arms, pulling her +towards him. Instinctively she resisted, struggling in his grip, her +eyes, wide and startled, gazing into his. + +"_Diana_!" + +The word seemed wrung from him, and as though something within her +answered to its note of urgency, she suddenly yielded, stumbling forward +on to her knees. His arms closed round her, holding her as in a vice, +and she lay there, helpless in his grasp, her head thrown back a little, +her young, slight breast fluttering beneath the thin silk of her blouse. + +For a moment he held her so, staring down, at her, his breath hard-drawn +between his teeth; then swiftly, with a stifled exclamation he stooped +his head, kissing her savagely, bruising, crushing her lips beneath his +own. + +She felt her strength going from her--it seemed as though he were drawing +her soul out from her body--and then, just as sheer consciousness itself +was wavering, he took his mouth from hers, and she could see his face, +white and strained, bent above her. + +She leaned away from him, panting a little, her shoulders against the +side of the car. + +"God!" she heard him mutter. + +For a space the throb of the motor was the only sound that broke the +stillness, but presently, after what seemed an eternity, he raised her +from the floor, where she still knelt inertly, and set her on the seat +again. She submitted passively. + +When he had resumed his place, he spoke in dry, level tones. + +"I suppose I'm damned beyond forgiveness after this?" + +She made no answer. She was listening with a curious fascination to the +throb of her heart and the measured beat of the engine; the two seemed to +meet and mingle into one great pulse, thundering against her tired brain. + +"Diana"--he spoke again, still in the same toneless voice--"am I to be +forbidden even the outskirts of your life now?" + +She moved her head restlessly. + +"I don't know--oh, I don't know," she whispered. + +She was utterly spent and exhausted. Unconsciously every nerve in her +had responded to the fierce passion of that suffocating kiss, and now +that the tense moment was over she felt drained of all vitality. Her +head drooped listlessly against the cushions of the car and dark shadows +stained her cheeks beneath the wide-opened eyes--eyes that held the +startled, frightened expression of one who has heard for the first time +the beat of Passion's wings. + +Gradually, as Errington watched her, the strained look left his face and +was replaced by one of infinite solicitude. She looked so young as she +lay there, huddled against the cushions--hardly more than a child--and he +knew what that mad moment had done for her. It had wakened the woman +within her. He cursed himself softly. + +"Diana," he said, leaning forward. "For God's sake, say you forgive me, +child." + +The deep pain in his voice pierced through her dulled, senses. + +"Why--why did you do it?" she asked tremulously. + +"I did it--oh, because for the moment I forgot that I'm a man barred out +from all that makes life worth living! . . . I forgot about the shadow, +Diana. . . . You--made me forget." + +He spoke with concentrated bitterness, adding mockingly:-- + +"After all, there's a great deal to be said in favour of the Turkish +yashmak. It at least removes temptation." + +Diana's hand flew to her lips--they burned still at the memory of those +kisses--and he smiled ironically at the instinctive gesture. + +"I hate you!" she said suddenly. + +"Quite the most suitable thing you could do," he answered composedly. +All the softened feeling of a few moments ago had vanished: he seemed to +have relapsed into his usual sardonic humour, putting a barrier between +himself and her that set them miles apart. + +Diana was conscious of a fury of resentment against his calm readjustment +of the situation. He was the offender; it was for her to dictate the +terms of peace, and he had suddenly cut the ground from under her feet. +Her pride rose in arms. If he could so contemptuously sweep aside the +memory of the last ten minutes, careless whether his plea for forgiveness +were granted or no, she would show him that for her, too, the incident +was closed. But she would not forgive him--ever. + +She opened her campaign at once. + +"Surely we must be almost at the Rectory by now?" she began in politely +conventional tones. + +A sudden gleam of wicked mirth flashed across his face. + +"Has the time, then, seemed so long?" he demanded coolly. + +Diana's lips trembled in the vain effort to repress a smile. The man was +impossible! It was also very difficult, she found, to remain righteously +angry with such an impossible person. + +If he saw the smile, he gave no indication of it. Rubbing the window +with his hand he peered out. + +"I think we are just turning in at the Rectory gates," he remarked +carelessly. + +In another minute the motor had throbbed to a standstill and the +chauffeur was standing at the open door. + +"I'm sorry we've been so long coming, sir," he said, touching his hat. +"I took a wrong turning--lost me way a bit." + +Then as Errington and Diana passed into the house, he added thoughtfully, +addressing his engine:-- + +"She's a pretty little bit of skirt and no mistake. I wonder, now, if we +was lost long enough, eh, Billy?" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +DIANA SINGS + +"I feel that we are very much indebted to you, Mr. Errington," said +Stair, when he and Joan had listened to an account of the afternoon's +proceedings--the major portion of them, that is. Certain details were +not included in the veracious history. "You seem to have a happy knack +of turning up just at the moment you are most needed," he added +pleasantly. + +"I think I must plead indebtedness to Miss Quentin for allowing me such +unique opportunities of playing knight errant," replied Max, smiling. +"Such chances are rare in this twentieth century of ours, and Miss +Quentin always kindly arranges so that I run no serious risks--to life +and limb, at least," he added, his mocking eyes challenging Diana's. + +She flushed indignantly. Evidently he wished her to understand that that +breathless moment in the car counted for nothing--must not be taken +seriously. He had only been amusing himself with her--just as he had +amused himself by chatting in the train--and again a wave of resentment +against him, against the cool, dominating insolence of the man, surged +through her. + +"I hope you'll stay and join us at dinner," the Rector was +saying--"unless it's hopelessly spoilt by waiting so long. Is it, Joan?" + +"Oh, no. I think there'll be some surviving remnants," she assured him. + +"Then if you'll overlook any discrepancies," pursued Stair, smiling at +Errington, "do stay." + +"Say, rather, if you'll overlook discrepancies," answered Errington, +smiling back--there was something infectious about Stair's geniality. +"I'm afraid a boiled shirt is out of the question--unless I go home to +fetch it!" + +Diana stared at him. Was he really going to stay--to accept the +invitation--after all that had occurred? If he did, she thought +scornfully, it was only in keeping with that calm arrogance of his by +which he allocated to himself the right to do precisely as he chose, +irrespective of convention--or of other people's feelings. + +Meanwhile Stair was twinkling humorously across at his visitor. + +"If you can bear to eat your dinner without being encased in the +regulation starch," he said, "I don't think I should advise risking what +remains of it by any further delay." + +"Then I accept with pleasure," replied Errington. + +As he spoke, his eyes sought Diana's once again. It almost seemed as +though they pleaded with her for understanding. The half-sad, +half-bitter mouth smiled faintly, the smile accentuating that upward +curve at the corners of the lips which lent such an unexpected sweetness +to its stern lines. + +Diana looked away quickly, refusing to endorse the Rector's invitation, +and, escaping to her own room, she made a hasty toilet, slipping into a +simple little black gown open at the throat. Meanwhile, she tortured +herself with questioning as to why--if all that had passed meant nothing +to him--he had chosen to stay. Once she hid her burning face in her +hands as the memory of those kisses rushed over her afresh, sending +little, new, delicious thrills coursing through her veins. Then once +more the maddening doubt assailed her--were they but a bitter humiliation +which she would remember for the rest of her life? + +When she came downstairs again, Max Errington and Stair were conversing +happily together, evidently on the best of terms with themselves and each +other. Errington was speaking as she entered the room, but he stopped +abruptly, biting his words off short, while his keen eyes swept over the +slim, black-gowned figure hesitating in the doorway. + +"Mr. Stair has been pledging your word during your absence," he said. +"He has promised that you'll sing to us after dinner." + +"I? Oh"--nervously--"I don't think I want to sing this evening." + +"Why not? Have the"--he made an infinitesimal pause, regarding her the +while with quizzical eyes--"events of the afternoon robbed you of your +voice?" + +Diana gave him back his look defiantly. How dared he--oh, how dared +he?--she thought indignantly. + +"My adventures weren't serious enough for that," she replied composedly. + +The ghost of a smile flickered across his face. + +"Then you will sing?" he persisted. + +"Yes, if you like." + +He nodded contentedly, and as they went in to dinner he whispered:-- + +"I found the adventure--rather serious." + +Dinner passed pleasantly enough. Errington and Stair contributed most of +the conversation, the former proving himself a charming guest, and it was +evident that the two men had taken a great liking to each other. It +would have been a difficult subject indeed who did not feel attracted by +Alan Stair; he was so unconventionally frank and sincere, brimming over +with humour, and he regarded every man as his friend until he had proved +him otherwise--and even then he was disposed to think that the fault must +lie somewhere in himself. + +"I'm not surprised that your church was so full on Sunday," Errington +told him, "now that I've met you. If the Church of England clergy, as a +whole, were as human as you are, you would have fewer offshoots from your +Established Church. I always think"--reminiscently--"that that is where +the strength of the Roman Catholic _padre_ lies--in his intense +_humanness_." + +The Sector looked up in surprise. + +"Then you're not a member of our Church?" he asked. + +For a moment Errington looked embarrassed, as though he had said more +than he wished to. + +"Oh, I was merely comparing the two," he replied evasively. "I have +lived abroad a good bit, you know." + +"Ah! That explains it, then," said Stair. "You've caught some little +foreign turns of speech. Several times I've wondered if you were +entirely English." + +Errington's face, as he turned to reply, wore that politely blank +expression which Diana had encountered more than once when conversing +with him--always should she chance to touch on any subject the natural +answer to which might have revealed something of the man's private life. + +"Oh," he answered the Rector lightly, "I believe there's a dash of +foreign blood in my veins, but I've a right to call myself an Englishman." + +After dinner, while the two men had their smoke, Diana, heedless of +Joan's common-sense remonstrance on the score of dew-drenched grass, +flung on a cloak and wandered restlessly out into the moonlit garden. +She felt that it would be an utter impossibility to sit still, waiting +until the men came into the drawing-room, and she paced slowly backwards +and forwards across the lawn, a slight, shadowy figure in the patch of +silver light. + +Presently she saw the French window of the dining-room open, and Max +Errington step across the threshold and come swiftly over the lawn +towards her. + +"I see you are bent on courting rheumatic fever--to say nothing of a sore +throat," he said quietly, "and I've come to take you indoors." + +Diana was instantly filled with a perverse desire to remain where she was. + +"I'm not in the least cold, thank you," she replied stiffly, "And--I like +it out here." + +"You may not be cold," he returned composedly. "But I'm quite sure your +feet are damp. Come along." + +He put his arm under hers, impelling her gently in the direction of the +house, and, rather to her own surprise, she found herself accompanying +him without further opposition. + +Arrived at the house, he knelt down and, taking up her foot in his hand, +deliberately removed the little pointed slipper. + +"There," he said conclusively, exhibiting its sole, dank with dew. "Go +up and put on a pair of dry shoes and then come down and sing to me." + +And once again she found herself meekly obeying him. + +By the time she had returned to the drawing-room, Pobs and Errington were +choosing the songs they wanted her to sing, while Joan was laughingly +protesting that they had selected all those with the most difficult +accompaniments. + +"However, I'll do my best, Di," she added, as she seated herself at the +piano. + +Joan's "best" as a pianist did not amount to very much at any time, and +she altogether lacked that intuitive understanding and sympathy which is +the _sine qua non_ of a good accompanist. Diana, accustomed to the +trained perfection of Olga Lermontof, found herself considerably +handicapped, and her rendering of the song in question, Saint-Saens' +_Amour, viens aider_, left a good deal to be desired in consequence--a +fact of which no one was more conscious than she herself. + +But the voice! As the full rich notes hung on the air, vibrant with that +indescribably thrilling quality which seems the prerogative of the +contralto, Errington recognised at once that here was a singer destined +to make her mark. The slight surprise which he had evinced on first +learning that she was a pupil of the great Baroni vanished instantly. No +master could be better fitted to have the handling of such a voice--and +certainly, he added mentally, Joan Stair was a ludicrously inadequate +accompanist, only to be excused by her frank acknowledgment of the fact. + +"I'm dreadfully sorry, Di," she said at the conclusion of the song. "But +I really can't manage the accompaniment." + +Errington rose and crossed the room to the piano. + +"Will you allow me to take your place?" he said pleasantly. "That is, if +Miss Quentin permits? It is hard lines to be suddenly called upon to +read accompaniments if you are not accustomed to it." + +"Oh, do you play?" exclaimed Joan, vacating her seat gladly. "Then +please do. I feel as if I were committing murder when I stumble through +Diana's songs." + +She joined the Rector at the far end of the room, adding with a smile:-- + +"I make a much better audience than performer." + +"What shall it be?" said Errington, turning over the pile of songs. + +"What you like," returned Diana indifferently. She was rather pale, and +her hand shook a little as she fidgeted restlessly with a sheet of music. +It almost seemed as though the projected change of accompanist were +distasteful to her. + +Max laid his own hand over hers an instant. + +"Please let me play for you," he said simply. + +There was a note of appeal in his voice--rather as if he were seeking to +soften her resentment against him, and would regard the permission to +accompany her as a token of forgiveness. She met his glance, wavered a +moment, then bent her head in silence, and each of them was conscious +that in some mysterious way, without the interchange of further words, an +armistice had been declared between them. + +With Errington at the piano the music took on a different aspect. He was +an incomparable accompanist, and Diana, feeling herself supported, and +upborne, sang with a beauty of interpretation, an intensity of feeling, +that had been impossible before. And through it all she was acutely +conscious of Max Errington's proximity--knew instinctively that the +passion of the song was shaking him equally with herself. It was as +though some intangible live wire were stretched between them so that each +could sense the emotion of the other--as though the garment with which we +so persistently conceal our souls from one another's eyes were suddenly +stripped away. + +There was a tense look in Max's face as the last note trembled into +silence, and Diana, meeting his glance, flushed rosily. + +"I can't sing any more," she said, her voice uneven. + +"No." + +He added nothing to the laconic negative, but his eyes held hers +remorselessly. + +Then Pobs' cheerful tones fell on their ears and the taut moment passed. + +"Di, you amazing child!" he exclaimed delightfully. "Where did you find +a voice like that? I realise now that we've been entertaining genius +unawares all this time. Joan, my dear, henceforth two commonplace bodies +like you and me must resign ourselves to taking a back seat." + +"I don't mind," returned Joan philosophically. "I think I was born with +a humdrum nature; a quiet life was always my idea of bliss." + +"Sing something else, Di," begged Stair. But Diana shook her head. + +"I'm too tired, Pobs," she said quietly. Turning abruptly to Errington +she continued: "Will you play instead?" + +Max hesitated a moment, then resumed his place at the piano, and, after a +pause, the three grave notes with which Rachmaninoff's wonderful +"Prelude" opens, broke the silence. + +It was speedily evident that Errington was a musician of no mean order; +indeed, many a professional reputation has been based on a less solid +foundation. The Rachmaninoff was followed by Chopin, Tchaikowsky, +Debussy, and others of the modern school, and when finally he dropped his +hands from the piano, laughingly declaring that he must be thinking of +taking his departure before he played them all to sleep, Joan burst out +bluntly:-- + +"We understood you were a dramatist, Mr. Errington. It seems to me you +have missed your vocation." + +Every one laughed. + +"Rather a two-edged compliment, I'm afraid, Joan," chuckled Stair +delightfully. + +Joan blushed, overcome with confusion, and remained depressed until +Errington, on the point of leaving, reassured her good-humouredly. + +"Don't brood over your father's unkind references to two-edged +compliments, Miss Stair. I entirely decline to see any but one meaning +to your speech--and that a very pleasant one." + +He shook hands with the Rector and Diana, holding the latter's hand an +instant longer than was absolutely necessary, to ask, rather low:-- + +"Is it peace, then?" + +But the softening spell of the music was broken, and Diana felt her +resentment against him rise up anew. + +Silently she withdrew her hand, refusing him an answer, defying him with +a courage born of the near neighbourhood of the Rector and Joan, and a +few minutes later the hum of his motor could be heard as it sped away +down the drive. + +Diana lay long awake that night, her thoughts centred round the man who +had come so strangely into her life. It was as though he had been forced +thither by a resistless fate which there was no eluding--for, on his own +confession, he had deliberately sought to avoid meeting her again. + +His whole attitude was utterly incomprehensible--a study of violently +opposing contrasts. Diana felt bruised and shaken by the fierce +contradictions of his moods, the temperamental heat and ice which he had +meted out to her. It seemed as if he were fighting against the +attraction she had for him, prepared to contest every inch of +ground--discounting each look and word wrung from him in some moment of +emotion by the mocking raillery with which he followed it up. + +More than once he had hinted at some barrier, spoken of a shadow that +dogged his steps, as if complete freedom of action were denied him. +Could it be--was it conceivable, that he was already married? And at the +thought Diana hid hot cheeks against her pillow, living over again that +moment in the car--that moment which had suddenly called into being +emotions before whose overmastering possibilities she trembled. + +At length, mentally and physically weary, she dropped into an uneasy +slumber, vaguely wondering what the morrow would bring forth. + +It brought the unexpected news that the occupants of Red Gables had +suddenly left for London by the morning train. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +MRS. LAWRENCE'S HOSPITALITY + +"_An Officer's Widow offers hospitality to students and professional +women. Excellent cuisine; man-servant; moderate terms. Apply: Mrs. L., +24 Brutton Square, N.W._" + +So ran the advertisement which Mrs. Lawrence periodically inserted in one +of the leading London dailies. She was well-pleased with the wording of +it, considering that it combined both veracity and attractiveness--two +things which do not invariably run smoothly in conjunction with each +other. + +The opening phrase had reference to the fact that her husband, the +defunct major, had been an army doctor, and the word hospitality +pleasantly suggested the idea of a home from home, whilst the +afterthought conveyed by the moderate terms delicately indicated that the +hospitality was not entirely of a gratuitous nature. The man-servant, on +closer inspection, resolved himself into a French-Swiss waiter, whose +agility and condition were such that he could negotiate the whole ninety +stairs of the house, three at a time, without once pausing for breath +till he reached the top. + +Little Miss Bunting, the lady-help, who lived with Mrs. Lawrence on the +understanding that she gave "assistance in light household duties in +return for hospitality," was not quite so nimble as Henri, the waiter, +and often found her heart beating quite uncomfortably fast by the time +she had climbed the ninety stairs to the little cupboard of a room which +Mrs. Lawrence's conception of hospitality allotted for her use. She did +the work of two servants and ate rather less than one, and, seeing that +she received no wages and was incurably conscientious, Mrs. Lawrence +found the arrangement eminently satisfactory. Possibly Miss Bunting +herself regarded the matter with somewhat less enthusiasm, but she was a +plucky little person and made no complaint. As she wrote to her invalid +mother, shortly after taking up her duties at Brutton Square: "After all, +dearest of little mothers, I have a roof over my head and food to eat, +and I'm not costing you anything except a few pounds for my clothes. And +perhaps when I leave here, if Mrs. Lawrence gives me a good reference, I +shall be able to get a situation with a salary attached to it." + +So Miss Bunting stuck to her guns and spent her days in supplementing the +deficiencies of careless servants, smoothing the path of the boarders, +and generally enabling Mrs. Lawrence to devote much more time to what she +termed her "social life" than would otherwise have been the case. + +The boarders usually numbered anything from twelve to fifteen--all of the +gentler sex--and were composed chiefly of students at one or other of the +London schools of art or music, together with a sprinkling of visiting +teachers of various kinds, and one or two young professional musicians +whose earnings did not yet warrant their launching out into the +independence of flat life. This meant that three times a year, when the +schools closed for their regular vacations, a general exodus took place +from 24 Brutton Square, and Mrs. Lawrence was happily enabled to go away +and visit her friends, leaving the conscientious Miss Bunting to look +after the reduced establishment and cater for the one or two remaining +boarders who were not released by regular holidays. It was an admirable +arrangement, profitable without being too exigeant. + +At the end of each vacation Mrs. Lawrence always summoned Miss Bunting to +her presence and ran through the list of boarders for the coming term, +noting their various requirements. She was thus occupied one afternoon +towards the end of April. The spring sunshine poured in through the +windows, lending an added cheerfulness of aspect to the rooms of the tall +London house that made them appear worth quite five shillings a week more +than was actually charged for them, and Mrs. Lawrence smiled, well +satisfied. + +She was a handsome woman, still in the early forties, and the word +"stylish" inevitably leaped to one's mind at the sight of her full, +well-corseted figure, fashionable raiment, and carefully coiffured hair. +There was nothing whatever of the boarding-house keeper about her; in +fact, at first sight, she rather gave the impression of a pleasant, +sociable woman who, having a house somewhat larger than she needed for +her own requirements, accepted a few paying guests to keep the rooms +aired. + +This was just the impression she wished to convey, and it was usually +some considerable time before her boarders grasped the fact that they +were dealing with, a thoroughly shrewd, calculating business woman, who +was bent on making every penny out of them that she could, compatibly +with running the house on such lines as would ensure its answering to the +advertised description. + +"I'm glad it's a sunny day," she remarked to Miss Bunting. "First +impressions are everything, and that pupil of Signor Baroni's, Miss +Quentin, arrives to-day. I hope her rooms are quite ready?" + +"Quite, Mrs. Lawrence," replied the lady-help. "I put a few flowers in +the vases just to make it look a little home-like." + +"Very thoughtful of you, Miss Bunting," Mrs. Lawrence returned +graciously. "Miss Quentin's is rather a special case. To begin with, +she has engaged a private sitting-room, and in addition to that she was +recommended to come here by Signor Baroni himself." + +The good word of a teacher of such standing as Baroni was a matter of the +first importance to a lady offering a home from home to musical students, +though possibly had Mrs. Lawrence heard the exact form taken by Baroni's +recommendation she might have felt less elated. + +"The Lawrence woman is a bit of a shark, my dear," he had told Diana, +when she had explained that, owing to the retirement from business of her +former landlady, she would be compelled after Easter to seek fresh rooms. +"But she caters specially for musical students, and as she is therefore +obliged to keep the schools pleased, she feeds her boarders, on the +whole, better than do most of her species. And remember, my dear Mees +Quentin, that good food, and plenty of good food, means--voice." + +So Diana had nodded and written to Mrs. Lawrence to ask if a bed-room and +sitting-room opening one into the other could be at her disposal, +receiving an affirmative reply. + +"Regarding coals, Miss Bunting," proceeded Mrs. Lawrence thoughtfully, "I +told Miss Quentin that the charge would be sixpence per scuttle." (This +was in pre-war times, it must be remembered, and the scuttles were of +painfully meagre proportions.) "It might be as well to put that large +coal-box in her room--you know the one I mean--and make the charge +eightpence." + +The box in question was certainly of imposing exterior proportions, but +its tin lining was of a quite different domestic period and made no +pretensions as to fitting. It lay loosely inside its sham mahogany +casing like the shrivelled kernel of a nut in its shell. + +"The big coal-scuttle really doesn't hold twopenny-worth more coal than +the others," observed Miss Bunting tentatively. + +A dull flush mounted to Mrs. Lawrence's cheek. She liked the prospect of +screwing an extra twopence out of one of her boarders, but she hated +having the fact so clearly pointed out to her. There were times when she +found Miss Bunting's conscientiousness something of a trial. + +"It's a much larger box," she protested sharply. + +"Yes. I know it is--outside. But the lining only holds two more knobs +than the sixpenny ones." + +Mrs. Lawrence frowned. + +"Do I understand that you--you actually measured the amount it contains?" +she asked, with bitterness. + +"Yes," retorted Miss Bunting valiantly. "And compared it with the +others. It was when you told me to put the eightpenny scuttle in Miss +Jenkins' room. She complained at once." + +"Then you exceeded your duties, Miss Bunting. You should have referred +Miss Jenkins to me." + +Miss Bunting made no reply. She had acted precisely in the way +suggested, but Miss Jenkins, a young art-student of independent opinions, +had flatly declined to be "referred" to Mrs. Lawrence. + +"It's not the least use, Bunty dear," she had said. "I'm not going to +have half an hour's acrimonious conversation with Mrs. Lawrence on the +subject of twopennyworth of coal. At the same time I haven't the +remotest intention of paying twopence extra for those two lumps of excess +luggage, so to speak. So you can just trot that sarcophagus away, like +the darling you are, and bring me back my sixpenny scuttle again." + +And little Miss Bunting, in her capacity of buffer state between Mrs. +Lawrence and her boarders, had obeyed and said nothing more about the +matter. + +"I have to go out now," continued Mrs. Lawrence, after a pause pregnant +with rebuke. "You will receive Miss Quentin on her arrival and attend to +her comfort. And put the large coal-box in her sitting-room as I +directed," she added firmly. + +So it came about that when, half an hour later, a taxi-cab buzzed up to +the door of No. 24, with Diana and a large quantity of luggage on board, +the former found herself met in the hall by a cheerful little person with +pretty brown eyes and a friendly smile to whom she took an instant liking. + +Miss Bunting escorted Diana up to her rooms on the second floor, while +Henri brought up the rear, staggering manfully beneath the weight of Miss +Quentin's trunk. + +A cheerful fire was blazing in the grate, and that, together with the +daffodils that gleamed from a bowl on the table like a splash of gold, +gave the room a pleasant and welcoming appearance. + +"But, surely," said Diana hesitatingly, "you are not Mrs. Lawrence?" + +Miss Bunting laughed, outright. + +"Oh, dear no," she answered. "Mrs. Lawrence is out, and she asked me to +see that you had everything you wanted. I'm the lady-help, you know." + +Diana regarded her commiseratingly. She seemed such a jolly, bright +little thing to be occupying that anomalous position. + +"Oh, are you? Then it was you"--with a sudden, inspiration--"who put +these lovely daffodils here, wasn't it? . . . Thank you so much for +thinking of it--it was kind of you." And she held out her hand with the +frank charm of manner which invariably turned Diana's acquaintances into +friends inside ten minutes. + +Little Miss Bunting flushed delightedly, and from that moment onward +became one of the new boarder's most devoted adherents. + +"You'd like some tea, I expect," she said presently. "Will you have it +up here--or in the dining-room with the other boarders in half an hour's +time?" + +"Oh, up here, please. I can't possibly wait half an hour." + +"I ought to tell you," Miss Bunting continued, dimpling a little, "that +it will be sixpence extra if you have it up here. '_All meals served in +rooms, sixpence extra_,'" she read out, pointing to the printed list of +rules and regulations hanging prominently above the chimney-piece. + +Diana regarded it with amusement. + +"They ought to be written on tablets of stone like the Ten Commandments," +she commented frivolously. "It rather reminds me of being at school +again. I've never lived in a boarding-house before, you know; I had +rooms in the house of an old servant of ours. Well, here +goes!"--twisting the framed set of rules round with its face to the wall. +"Now, if I break the laws of the Medes and Persians I can't be blamed, +because I haven't read them." + +Miss Bunting privately thought that the new boarder, recommended by so +great a personage as Signor Baroni, stood an excellent chance of being +allowed a generous latitude as regards conforming to the rules at No. +24--provided she paid her bills promptly and without too careful a +scrutiny of the "extras." Bunty, indeed, retained few illusions +concerning her employer, and perhaps this was just as well--for the fewer +the illusions by which you're handicapped, the fewer your disappointments +before the journey's end. + +"You haven't told me your name," said Diana, when the lady-help +reappeared with a small tea-tray in her hand. + +"Bunting," came the smiling reply. "But most of the boarders call me +Bunty." + +"I shall, too, may I?--And oh, why haven't you brought two cups? I +wanted you to have tea with me--if you've time, that is?" + +"If I had brought a second cup, '_Tea, for two_' would have been charged +to your account," observed Miss Bunting. + +"What?" Diana's eyes grew round with astonishment. "With the same sized +teapot?" + +The other nodded humorously. + +"Well, Mrs. Lawrence's logic is beyond me," pursued Diana. +"However, we'll obviate the difficulty. I'll have tea out of my +tooth-glass"--glancing towards the washstand in the adjoining room where +that article, inverted, capped the water-bottle--"and you, being the +honoured guest, shall luxuriate in the cup." + +Bunty modestly protested, but Diana had her own way in the matter, and +when finally the little lady-help went downstairs to pour out tea in the +dining-room for the rest of the boarders, it was with that pleasantly +warm glow about the region of the heart which the experience of an +unexpected kindness is prone to produce. + +Meanwhile Diana busied herself unpacking her clothes and putting them +away in the rather limited cupboard accommodation provided, and in fixing +up a few pictures, recklessly hammering the requisite nails into the +walls in happy disregard of Rule III of the printed list, which +emphatically stated that: "_No nails must be driven into the walls +without permission_." + +By the time she had completed these operations a dressing-bell sounded, +and quickly exchanging her travelling costume for a filmy little dinner +dress of some soft, shimmering material, she sallied downstairs in search +of the dining-room. + +Mrs. Lawrence met her on the threshold, warmly welcoming, and conducting +her to her allotted place at the lower end of a long table, around which +were seated--as it appeared to Diana in that first dizzy moment of +arrival--dozens of young women varying from twenty to thirty years of +age. In reality there were but a baker's dozen of them, and they all +painstakingly abstained from glancing in her direction lest they might be +thought guilty of rudely staring at a newcomer. + +Diana's _vis-a-vis_ at table was the redoubtable Miss Jenkins of coal-box +fame, and her neighbours on either hand two students of one of the +musical colleges. Next to Miss Jenkins, Diana observed a vacant place; +presumably its owner was dining out. She also noticed that she alone +among the boarders had attempted to make any kind of evening toilet. The +others had "changed" from their workaday clothes, it is true, but a light +silk blouse, worn with a darker skirt, appeared to be generally regarded +as a sufficient recognition of the occasion. + +Diana's near neighbours were at first somewhat tongue-tied with a nervous +stiffness common to the Britisher, but they thawed a little as the meal +progressed, and when the musical students, Miss Jones and Miss Allen, had +elicited that she was actually a pupil of the great Baroni, envy and a +certain awed admiration combined to unseal the fountains of their speech. + +Just as the fish was being removed, the door opened to admit a tall, thin +woman, wearing outdoor costume, who passed quickly down the room and took +the vacant place at the table, murmuring a curt apology to Mrs. Lawrence +on her way. To Diana's astonishment she recognised in the newcomer Olga +Lermontof, Baroni's accompanist. + +"Miss Lermontof!" she exclaimed. "I had no idea that you lived here." + +Miss Lermontof nodded a brief greeting. + +"How d'you do? Yes, I've lived here for some time. But I didn't know +that you were coming. I thought you had rooms somewhere?" + +"So I had. But I was obliged to give them up, and Signor Baroni +suggested this instead." + +"Hope you'll like it," returned Miss Lermontof shortly. "At any rate, it +has the advantage of being only quarter of an hour's walk from +Grellingham Place. I've just come from there." And with that she +relapsed into silence. + +Although Olga Lermontof had frequently accompanied Diana during her +lessons with Baroni, the acquaintance between the two had made but small +progress. There had been but little opportunity for conversation on +those occasions, and Diana, instinctively resenting the accompanist's +cool and rather off-hand manner, had never sought to become better +acquainted with her. It was generally supposed that she was a Russian, +and she was undoubtedly a highly gifted musician, but there was something +oddly disagreeable and repellent about her personality. Whenever Diana +had thought about her at all, she had mentally likened her to Ishmael, +whose hand was against every man and every man's hand against his. And +now she found herself involved with this strange woman in the rather +close intimacy of daily life consequent upon becoming fellow-boarders in +the same house. + +Seen amidst so many strange faces, the familiarity of Olga Lermontof's +clever but rather forbidding visage bred a certain new sense of +comradeship, and Diana made several tentative efforts to draw her into +conversation. The results were meagre, however, the Russian confining +herself to monosyllabic answers until some one--one of the musical +students--chanced to mention that she had recently been to the Premier +Theatre to see Adrienne de Gervais in a new play, "The Grey Gown," which +had just been produced there. + +It was then that Miss Lermontof apparently awoke to the fact that the +English language contains further possibilities than a bare "yes" or "no." + +"I consider Adrienne de Gervais a most overrated actress," she remarked +succinctly. + +A chorus of disagreement greeted this announcement. + +"Why, only think how quickly she's got on," argued Miss Jones. "No one +three years ago--and to-day Max Errington writes all his plays round her." + +"Precisely. And it's easy enough to 'create a part' successfully if that +part has been previously written specially to suit you," retorted Miss +Lermontof unmoved. + +The discussion of Adrienne de Gervais' merits, or demerits, threatened to +develop into a violent disagreement, and Diana was struck by a certain +personal acrimony that seemed to flavour Miss Lermontof's criticism of +the popular actress. Finally, with the idea of averting a quarrel +between the disputants, she mentioned that the actress, accompanied by +her chaperon, had been staying in the neighbourhood of her own home. + +"Mr. Errington was with them also," she added. + +"He usually is," commented Miss Lermontof disagreeably. + +"He's a remarkably fine pianist," said Diana. "Do you know him +personally at all?" + +"I've met him," replied Olga. Her green eyes narrowed suddenly, and she +regarded Diana with a rather curious expression on her face. + +"Is he a professional pianist?" pursued Diana. She was conscious of an +intense curiosity concerning Errington, quite apart from the personal +episodes which had linked them together. The man of mystery invariably +exerts a peculiar fascination over the feminine mind. Hence the +unmerited popularity not infrequently enjoyed by the dark, saturnine, +brooding individual whose conversation savours of the tensely +monosyllabic. + +Olga Lermontof paused a moment before replying to Diana's query. The she +said briefly:-- + +"No. He's a dramatist. I shouldn't allow myself to become too +interested in him if I were you." + +She smiled a trifle grimly at Diana's sudden flush, and her manner +indicated that, as far as she was concerned, the subject was closed. + +Diana felt an inward conviction that Miss Lermontof knew much more +concerning Max Errington than she chose to admit, and when she fell +asleep that night it was to dream that she and Errington were trying to +find each other through the gloom of a thick fog, whilst all the time the +dark-browed, sinister face of Olga Lermontof kept appearing and +disappearing between them, smiling tauntingly at their efforts. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A CONTEST OF WILLS + +Diana was sitting in Baroni's music-room, waiting, with more or less +patience, for a singing lesson. The old _maestro_ was in an +unmistakable ill-humour this morning, and he had detained the pupil +whose lesson preceded her own far beyond the allotted time, storming at +the unfortunate young man until Diana marvelled that the latter had +sufficient nerve to continue singing at all. + +In a whirl of fury Baroni informed him that he was exactly suited to be +a third-rate music-hall artiste--the young man, be it said, was making +a special study of oratorio--and that it was profanation, for any one +with so incalculably little idea of the very first principles of art to +attempt to interpret the works of the great masters, together with much +more of a like explosive character. Finally, he dismissed him abruptly +and turned to Diana. + +"Ah--Mees Quentin." He softened a little. He had a great affection +for this promising pupil of his, and welcomed her with a smile. "I am +seek of that young man with his voice of an archangel and his brains of +a feesh! . . . So! You haf come back from your visit to the country? +And how goes it with the voice?" + +"I expect I'm a bit rusty after my holiday," she replied +diplomatically, fondly hoping to pave the way for more lenient +treatment than had been accorded to the luckless student of oratorio. + +Unfortunately, however, it chanced to be one of those sharply chilly +days to which May occasionally treats us. Baroni frankly detested cold +weather--it upset both his nerves and his temper--and Diana speedily +realised that no excuses would avail to smooth her path on this +occasion. + +"Scales," commanded Baroni, and struck a chord. + +She began to sing obediently, but at the end of the third scale he +stopped her. + +"Bah! It sounds like an elephant coming downstairs! Be-r-r-rump . . . +be-r-r-rump . . . be-r-r-rump . . . br-r-rum! Do not, please, sing as +an elephant walks." + +Diana coloured and tried again, but without marked success. She was +genuinely out of practice, and the nervousness with which Baroni's +obvious ill-humour inspired her did not mend matters. + +"But what haf you been doing during the holidays?" exclaimed the +_maestro_ at last, his odd, husky voice fierce with annoyance. "There +is no ease---no flexibility. You are as stiff as a rusty hinge. Ach! +But you will haf to work--not play any more." + +He frowned portentously, then with a swift change to a more reasonable +mood, he continued:-- + +"Let us haf some songs--Saint-Saens' _Amour, viens aider_. Perhaps +that will wake you up, _hein_?" + +Instead, it carried Diana swiftly back to the Rectory at Crailing, to +the evening when she had sung this very song to Max Errington, with the +unhappy Joan stumbling through the accompaniment. She began to sing, +her mind occupied with quite other matters than Delilah's passion of +vengeance, and her face expressive of nothing more stirring than a +gentle reminiscence. Baroni stopped abruptly and placed a big mirror +in front of her. + +"Please to look at your face, Mees Quentin," he said scathingly. "It +is as wooden as your singing." + +He was a confirmed advocate of the importance of facial expression in a +singer, and Diana's vague, abstracted look was rapidly raising his ire. +Recalled by the biting scorn in his tones, she made a gallant effort to +throw herself more effectually into the song, but the memory of +Errington's grave, intent face, as he had sat listening to her that +night, kept coming betwixt her and the meaning of the music--and the +result was even more unpromising than before. + +In another moment Baroni was on his feet, literally dancing with rage. + +"But do you then call yourself an _artiste_?" he broke out furiously. +"Why has the good God given you eyes and a mouth? That they may +express nothing--nothing at all? Bah! You haf the face of a +gootta-per-r-rcha doll!" + +And snatching up the music from the piano in an uncontrollable burst of +fury, he flung it straight at her, and the two of them stood glaring at +each other for a few moments in silence. Then Baroni pointed to the +song, lying open on the floor between them, and said explosively:-- + +"Pick that up." + +Diana regarded him coolly, her small face set like a flint. + +"No." She fairly threw the negative at him, + +He stared at her--he was accustomed to more docile pupils--and the two +girls who had remained in the room to listen to the lessons following +their own huddled together with scared faces. The _maestro_ in a royal +rage was ever, in their opinion, to be regarded from much the same +viewpoint as a thunderbolt, and that any one of his pupils should dare +to defy him was unheard-of. In the same situation as that in which +Diana found herself, either of the two girls in question would have +meekly picked up the music and, dissolving into tears, made the +continuance of the lesson an impossibility, only to be bullied by the +_maestro_ even more execrably next time. + +"Pick that up," repeated Baroni stormily. + +"I shall do nothing of the kind," retorted Diana promptly. "You threw +it there, and you can pick it up. I'm going home." And, turning her +back upon him, she marched towards the door. + +A sudden twinkle showed itself in Baroni's eyes. With unaccustomed +celerity he pranced after her. + +"Come back, little Pepper-pot, come back, then, and we will continue +the lesson." + +Diana turned and stood hesitating. + +"Who's going to pick up that music?" she demanded unflinchingly. + +"Why, I will, thou most obstinate child"--suiting the action to the +word. "Because it is true that professors should not throw music at +their pupils, no matter"--maliciously--"how stupid nor how dull they +may be at their lesson." + +Diana flushed, immediately repentant. + +"I'm sorry," she acknowledged frankly. "I was being abominably +inattentive; I was thinking of something else." + +The little scene was characteristic of her--unbendingly determined and +obstinate when she thought she was wronged and unjustly treated, +impulsively ready to ask pardon when she saw herself at fault. + +Baroni patted her hand affectionately. + +"See, my dear, I am a cross-grained, ugly old man, am I not?" he said +placidly. + +"Yes, you are," agreed Diana, to the awed amazement of the other two +pupils, at the same time bestowing a radiant smile upon him. + +Baroni beamed back at her benevolently. + +"So! Thus we agree--we are at one, as master and pupil should be. Is +it not so?" + +Diana nodded, amusement in her eyes. + +"Then, being agreed, we can continue our lesson. Imagine yourself, +please, to be Delilah, brooding on your vengeance, gloating over what +you are about to accomplish. Can you not picture her to +yourself--beautiful, sinister, like a snake that winds itself about the +body"--his voice fell to a penetrating whisper--"and, in her heart, +dreaming of the triumph that shall bring Samson at last a captive to +destruction?" + +Something in the tense excitement of his whispering tones struck an +answering chord within Diana, and oblivious for the moment of all else +except Delilah's passionate thirst for vengeance, she sang with her +whole soul, so that when she ceased, Baroni, in a sudden access of +artistic fervour, leapt from his seat and embraced her rapturously. + +"Well done! That is, true art--art and intelligence allied to the +voice of gold which the good God has given you." + +Absorbed in the music, neither master nor pupil had observed that +during the course of the song the door had been softly unlatched from +outside and held ajar, and now, just as Diana was somewhat blushingly +extricating herself from Baroni's fervent clasp, it was thrown open and +the unseen listener came into the room. + +Baroni whirled round and advanced with outstretched hands, his face +wreathed in smiles. + +"_A la bonne heure_! You haf come just at a good moment, Mees de +Gervais, to hear this pupil of mine who will some day be one of the +world's great singers." + +Adrienne de Gervais shook hands. + +"I've been listening, Baroni. She has a marvellous voice. +But"--looking at Diana pleasantly--"we are neighbours, surely? I have +seen you in Crailing--where we have just taken a house called Red +Gables." + +"Yes, I live at Crailing," replied Diana, a little shyly. + +"And I saw you, there one day--you were sitting in a pony-trap, waiting +outside a cottage, and singing to yourself. I noticed the quality of +her voice then," added Miss de Gervais, turning to the _maestro_. + +"Yes," said Baroni, with placid content. "It is superb." + +Adrienne turned back to Diana with a delightful smile. + +"Since we are neighbours in the country, Miss Quentin, we ought to be +friends in town. Won't you come and see me one day?" + +Diana flushed. She was undoubtedly attracted by the actress's charming +personality, but beyond this lay the knowledge that it was more than +likely that at her house she might again encounter Errington. And +though Diana told herself that he was nothing to her--in fact, that she +disliked him rather than otherwise--the chance of meeting him once more +was not to be foregone--if only for the opportunity it would give her +of showing him how much she disliked him! + +"I should like to come very much," she answered. + +"Then come and have tea with me to-morrow--no, to-morrow I'm engaged. +Shall we say Thursday?" + +Diana acquiesced, and Miss de Gervais turned to Baroni with a rather +mischievous smile, saying something in a foreign tongue which Diana +took to be Russian. Baroni replied in the same language, frowningly, +and although she could not understand the tenor of his answer, Diana +was positive that she caught her own name and that of Max Errington +uttered in conjunction with each other. + +It struck her as an odd coincidence that Baroni should be acquainted +both with Miss de Gervais and with Errington, and at her next lesson +she ventured to comment on the former's visit. Baroni's answer, +however, furnished a perfectly simple explanation of it. + +"Mees de Gervais? Oh, yes, she sings a song in her new play, 'The Grey +Gown,' and I haf always coached her in her songs. She has a pree-ty +voice--nothing beeg, but quite pree-ty." + +Diana set forth on her visit to Adrienne with a certain amount of +trepidation. Much as she longed to see Max Errington again, she felt +that the first meeting after that last episode of their acquaintance +might well partake of the somewhat doubtful pleasure of skating on thin +ice. + +It was therefore not without a feeling of relief that she found the +actress and her chaperon the only occupants of the former's pretty +drawing-room. They both welcomed her cordially. + +"I have heard so much about you," said Mrs. Adams, pleasantly, "that +I've been longing to meet you, Miss Quentin. Adrienne calls you the +'girl with the golden voice,' and I'm hoping to have the pleasure of +hearing you sing." + +Diana was getting used to having her voice referred to as something +rather wonderful; it no longer embarrassed her, so she murmured an +appropriate answer and the conversation then drifted naturally to +Crailing and to the lucky chance which had brought Errington past +Culver Point the day Diana was marooned there, and Diana explained that +the Rector and his daughter had intended calling upon the occupants of +Red Gables, but had been prevented by their sudden departure. + +Adrienne laughed. + +"Yes, I expect every one thought we were quite mad to run away like +that so soon after our arrival! It was a sudden idea of Mr. +Errington's. He declared he was not satisfied about something in the +staging of 'The Grey Gown,' and of course we must needs all rush up to +town to see about it. There wasn't the least necessity, as it turned +out, but when Max takes an idea into his head there's no stopping him." + +"No," added Mrs. Adams. "And the sheer cruelty of bustling an elderly +person like me from one end of England to the other just to suit his +whims doesn't seem to move him in the slightest." + +She was smiling broadly as she spoke, and, it was evident to Diana that +to both these women Max Errington's word was law--a law they obeyed, +however, with the utmost cheerfulness. + +"But, of course, we are coming back again," pursued Miss de Gervais. +"I think Crailing is a delightful little place, and I am going to +regard Red Gables as a haven of refuge from the storms of professional +life. So I hope"--smilingly--"that the Rectory will call on Red Gables +when next we are 'in residence.'" + +The time passed quickly, and when tea was disposed of Adrienne looked +out from amongst her songs one or two which were known to Diana, and +Mrs. Adams was given the opportunity of hearing the "golden voice." + +And then, just as Diana was preparing to leave, a maid threw open a +door and announced:-- + +"Mr. Errington." + +Diana felt her heart contract suddenly, and the sound of his voice, as +he greeted Adrienne and Mrs. Adams, sent a thrill through every nerve +in her body. + +"You mustn't go now." She was vaguely conscious that Adrienne was +speaking to her. "Max, here is Miss Quentin, whom you gallantly +rescued from Culver Point." + +The actress was dimpling and smiling, a spice of mischief in her soft +blue eyes. She and Mrs. Adams had not omitted to chaff Errington about +his involuntary knight-errantry, and the former had even laughingly +declared it her firm belief that his journey to town the next day +partook more of the nature of flight than anything else. To all of +which Errington had submitted composedly, declining to add anything +further to his bare statement of the incident of Culver Point--mention +of which had been entailed by his unexpected absence from Red Gables +that evening. + +He gave a scarcely perceptible start of surprise as his eyes fell upon +Diana, but he betrayed no pleasure at seeing her again. His face +showed nothing beyond the polite, impersonal interest which any +stranger might exhibit. + +"I have just missed the pleasure of hearing you sing, I'm afraid," he +said, shaking hands. "Have you been back in town long, Miss Quentin?" + +"No, only a few days," she answered. "I had my first lesson with +Signor Baroni the other day, and it was then that I met Miss de +Gervais." + +"At Baroni's?" Diana intercepted a swift glance pass between him and +Adrienne. + +"Yes," said the latter quickly. "I went to rehearse my song in 'The +Grey Gown' with him. He was rather crochety that day," she added, +smiling. + +Diana smiled in sympathy. + +"Well, if he was crochety with you, Miss de Gervais," she observed, +"you can perhaps imagine what he was like to me!" + +"Was he so very bad?" asked Adrienne, laughing. "Every one says his +temper is diabolical." + +"It is," replied Diana, with conviction. + +"Still," broke in Errington's quiet voice, "I should have thought he +would have found it somewhat difficult to be very angry with Miss +Quentin." + +Diana fancied she detected the familiar flavour of irony in the cool +tones. + +"On the contrary, he apparently found it perfectly simple," she +retorted sharply. + +"And yet," interposed Adrienne, "from the panegyrics he indulged in +upon the subject of your voice after you had gone, I'm sure he thinks +the world of you." + +"Oh, I'm just a voice to him--nothing more," said Diana. + +"To be 'just a voice' to Baroni means to be the most important thing on +earth," observed Errington. "I believe he would imperil his immortal +soul to give a supremely beautiful voice to the world." + +"Nonsense, Max," protested Adrienne. "You talk as if he were perfectly +conscienceless." + +"So he is, except in so far as art is concerned, and then his +conscience assumes the form of sheer idolatry. I believe he would +sacrifice anything and anybody for the sake of it." + +"Well, it's to be hoped you're wrong," said Adrienne, smiling, and +again Diana thought she detected a glance of mutual understanding pass +between the actress and Max Errington. + +A little uncomfortable sense as of being _de trop_ invaded her. She +felt that for some reason Errington would be glad when she had gone. +Possibly he had come to see Miss de Gervais about some business matter +in connection with the play he had written, and was only awaiting her +departure to discuss it. He had not appeared in the least pleased to +find her there on his arrival, and from that moment onward the +conversation had become distinctly laboured. + +She wished very much that Miss de Gervais had not pressed her to stay +when he came, and at the first opportunity she rose to go. This time, +Adrienne made no effort to detain her, although she asked her cordially +to come again another day. + +As Diana drove back in a taxi to Brutton Square she was conscious of a +queer sense of disappointment in the outcome of her meeting with Max +Errington. It had been so utterly different from anything she had +expected--quite commonplace and ordinary, exactly as though they had +been no more than the most casual acquaintances. + +She hardly knew what she had actually anticipated. Certainly, she told +herself irritably, she could not have expected him to have treated her +with marked warmth of manner in the presence of others, and therefore +his behaviour had been just what the circumstances demanded. But, +notwithstanding the assurance she gave herself that this was the +common-sense view to take of the matter, she had an instinctive feeling +that, even had there been no one else to consider, Errington's manner +would still have shown no greater cordiality. For some reason he had +decided to lock the door on the past, and the polite friendly +indifference with which he had treated her was intended to indicate +quite clearly the attitude he proposed to adopt. + +She supposed he repented that brief, vivid moment in the car, and +wished her to understand that it held no significance--that it was +merely a chance incident in this world where one amuses oneself as +occasion offers. Presumably he feared that, not being a woman of the +world, she might attach a deeper meaning to it than the circumstances +warranted, and was anxious to set her right on that point. + +Her pride rose in revolt. Olga Lermontof's words returned to her mind +with fresh enlightenment: "I shouldn't allow myself to become too +interested in him, if I were you." Surely she had intended this as a +friendly warning to Diana not to take anything Max Errington might do +or say very seriously! + +Well, there would be no danger of that in the future; she had learned +her lesson and would take care to profit by it. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +MISS LERMONTOF'S ADVICE + +As Diana entered the somewhat dingy hall at 34 Brutton Square on her +return from visiting Adrienne, the first person she encountered was +Olga Lermontof. She still retained her dislike of the accompanist and +was preparing to pass by with a casual remark upon the coldness of the +weather, when something in the Russian's pale, fatigued face arrested +her. + +"How frightfully tired you look!" she exclaimed, pausing on the +staircase as the two made their way up together. + +"I am, rather," returned Miss Lermontof indifferently. "I've been +playing accompaniments all afternoon, and I've had no tea." + +Diana hesitated an instant, then she said impulsively--"Oh, do come +into my room and let me make you a cup." + +Olga Lermontof regarded her with a faint surprise. + +"Thanks," she said in her abrupt way. "I will." + +A cheerful little fire was burning in the grate, and the room presented +a very comfortable and home-like appearance, for Diana had added a +couple of easy-chairs and several Liberty cushions to its somewhat +sparse furniture. A heavy curtain, hung in front of the door to +exclude draughts, gave an additional cosy touch, and fresh flowers +adorned both chimney-piece and table. + +Olga Lermontof let her long, lithe figure down into one of the +easy-chairs with a sigh of satisfaction, while Diana set the kettle on +the fire to boil, and produced from the depths of a cupboard a canister +of tea and a tin of attractive-looking biscuits. + +"I often make my own tea up here," she observed. "I detest having it +in that great barrack of a dining-room downstairs. The +bread-and-butter is always so thick--like doorsteps!--and the cake is +very emphatically of the 'plain, home-made' variety." + +Olga nodded. + +"You look very comfortable here," she replied. "If you saw my tiny +bandbox of a room on the fourth floor you'd realise what a sybarite you +are." + +Diana wondered a little why Olga Lermontof should need to economise by +having such a small room and one so high up. She was invariably +well-dressed--Diana had frequently caught glimpses of silken petticoats +and expensive shoes--and she had not in the least the air of a woman +who is accustomed to small means. + +Almost as though she had uttered her thought aloud, Miss Lermontof +replied to it, smiling rather satirically. + +"You're thinking I don't look the part? It's true I haven't always +been so poor as I am now. But a lot of my money is invested in +Ru--abroad, and owing to--to various things"--she stammered a +little--"I can't get hold of it just at present, so I'm dependent on +what I make. And an accompanist doesn't earn a fortune, you know. But +I can't quite forego pretty clothes--I wasn't brought up that way. So +I economise over my room." + +Diana was rather touched by the little confidence; somehow she didn't +fancy the other had found it very easy to make, and she liked her all +the better for it. + +"No," she agreed, as she poured out two steaming cups of tea. "I +suppose accompanying doesn't pay as well as some other things--the +stage, for example. I should think Adrienne de Gervais makes plenty of +money." + +"She has private means, I believe," returned Miss Lermontof. "But, of +course, she gets an enormous salary." + +She was drinking her tea appreciatively, and a little colour had crept +into her cheeks, although the shadows still lay heavily beneath her +light-green eyes. They were of a curious translucent green, the more +noticeable against the contrasting darkness of her hair and brows; they +reminded one of the colour of Chinese jade. + +"I've just been to tea with Miss de Gervais," volunteered Diana, after +a pause. + +A swift look of surprise crossed Olga Lermontof's face. + +"I didn't know you had met her," she said slowly. + +"Yes, we met at Signor Baroni's the other day. She came in during my +lesson. I believe I told you she had taken a house at Crailing, so +that at home we are neighbours, you see." + +"Miss Lermontof consumed a biscuit in silence. Then she said +abruptly:-- + +"Miss Quentin, I know you don't like me, but--well, I have an odd sort +of wish to do you a good turn. You had better have nothing to do with +Adrienne de Gervais." + +Diana stared at her in undisguised amazement, the quick colour rushing +into her face as it always did when she was startled or surprised. + +"But--but why?" she stammered. + +"I can't tell you why. Only take my advice and leave her alone." + +"But I thought her delightful," protested Diana. "And"--wistfully--"I +haven't many friends in London." + +"Miss de Gervais isn't quite all she seems. And your art should be +your friend--you don't need any other." + +Diana laughed. + +"You talk like old Baroni himself! But indeed I do want friends--I +haven't nearly reached the stage when art can take the place of nice +human people." + +Miss Lermontof regarded her dispassionately. + +"That's only because you're young--horribly young and warm-hearted." + +"You talk as if you yourself were a near relation of +Methuselah!"--laughing. + +"I'm thirty-five," returned Olga, "And that's old enough to know that +nine-tenths of your 'nice human people' are self-seeking vampires +living on the generosity of the other tenth. Besides, you have only to +wait till you come out professionally and you can have as many +so-called friends as you choose. You'll scarcely need to lift your +little finger and they'll come flocking round you. I don't think"-- +looking at her speculatively--"that you've any conception what your +voice is going to do for you. You see, it isn't just an ordinary good +voice--it's one of the exceptional voices that are only vouchsafed once +or twice in a century." + +"Still, I think I should like to have a few friends--now. _My_ friend, +I mean--not just the friends of my voice!"--with a smile. + +"Well, don't include Miss de Gervais in the number--or Max Errington +either." + +She watched Diana's sudden flush, and shrugging her shoulders, added +sardonically:-- + +"I suppose, however, it's useless to try and stop a marble rolling down +hill. . . . Well, later on, remember that I warned you." + +Diana stared into the fire for a moment in silence. Then she asked +with apparent irrelevance:-- + +"Is Mr. Errington married?" + +"He is not." Diana's heart suddenly sang within her. + +"Nor," continued Miss Lermontof keenly, "is there any likelihood of his +ever marrying." + +The song broke off abruptly. + +"I should have thought," said Diana slowly, "that he was just the kind +of man who _would_ marry. He is"--with a little effort--"very +delightful." + +Miss Lermontof got up to go. + +"You have a saying in England: _All is not gold that glitters_. It is +very good sense," she observed. + +"Do you mean"--Diana's eyes were suddenly apprehensive--"do you mean +that he has done anything wrong--dishonourable?" + +"I think," replied Olga Lermontof incisively, "that it would be very +dishonourable of him if he tried to--to make you care for him." + +She moved towards the door as she spoke, and Diana followed her. + +"But why--why do you tell me this?" she faltered. + +The Russian's queer green eyes held an odd expression as she answered:-- + +"Perhaps it's because I like you very much better than you do me. +You're one of the few genuine warm-hearted people I've met--and I don't +want you to be unhappy. Good-bye," she added carelessly, "thank you +for my tea." + +The door closed behind her, and Diana, returning to her seat by the +fire, sat staring into the flames, puzzling over what she had heard. + +Miss Lermontof's curious warning had frightened her a little. She +apparently possessed some intimate knowledge of the affairs both of Max +Errington and Adrienne de Gervais, and what she knew did not appear to +be very favourable to either of them. + +Diana had intuitively felt from the very beginning of her acquaintance +with Errington that there was something secret, something hidden, about +him, and in a way this had added to her interest in him. It had seized +hold of her imagination, kept him vividly before her mind as nothing +else could have done, and now Olga Lermontof's strange hints and +innuendos gave a fresh fillip to her desire to know in what way Max +Errington differed from his fellows. + +"It would be dishonourable of him to make you care," Miss Lermontof had +said. + +The words seemed to ring in Diana's ears, and side by side with them, +as though to add a substance of reality, came the memory of Errington's +own bitter exclamation: "I forgot that I'm a man barred out from all +that makes life worth living!" + +She felt as though she had drawn near some invisible web, of which +every now and then a single filament brushed against her--almost +impalpable, yet touching her with the fleetest and lightest of contacts. + + +During the weeks that followed, Diana became more or less an intimate +at Adrienne's house in Somervell Street. The actress seemed to have +taken a great fancy to her, and although she was several years Diana's +senior, the difference in age formed no appreciable stumbling-block to +the growth of the friendship between them. + +On her part, Diana regarded Adrienne with the enthusiastic devotion +which an older woman--more especially if she happens to be very +beautiful and occupying a somewhat unique position--frequently inspires +in one younger than herself, and Olga Lermontof's grave warning might +just as well have been uttered to the empty air. Diana's warm-hearted, +spontaneous nature swept it aside with an almost passionate loyalty and +belief in her new-found friend. + +Once Miss Lermontof had referred to it rather disagreeably. + +"So you've decided to make a friend of Miss de Gervais after all?" she +said. + +"Yes. And I think you've misjudged her utterly," Diana warmly assured +her. "Of course," she added, sensitively afraid that the other might +misconstrue her meaning, "I know you believed what you were saying, and +that you only said it out of kindness to me. But you were +mistaken--really you were." + +"Humph!" The Russian's eyes narrowed until they looked like two slits +of green fire. "Humph! I was wrong, was I? Nevertheless, I'm +perfectly sure that Adrienne de Gervais' past is a closed book to +you--although you call yourself her friend!" + +Diana turned away without reply. It was true--Olga Lermontof had laid +a finger on the weak spot in her friendship with Adrienne. The latter +never talked to her of her past life; their mutual attachment was built +solely around the present, and if by chance any question of Diana's +accidentally probed into the past, it was adroitly parried. Even of +Adrienne's nationality she was in ignorance, merely understanding, +along with the rest of the world, that she was of French extraction. +This assumption had probably been founded in the first instance upon +her name, and Adrienne never troubled either to confirm or contradict +it. + +Mrs. Adams, her companion-chaperon, always made Diana especially +welcome at the house in Somervell Street. + +"You must come again soon, my dear," she would say cordially. +"Adrienne makes few friends--and your visits are such a relaxation to +her. The life she leads is rather a strain, you know." + +At times Diana noticed a curious aloofness in her friend, as though her +professional success occupied a position of relatively small importance +in her estimation, and once she had commented on it half jokingly. + +"You don't seem to value your laurels one bit," she had said, as +Adrienne contemptuously tossed aside a newspaper containing a eulogy of +her claims to distinction which most actresses would have carefully cut +out and pasted into their book of critiques. + +"Fame?" Adrienne had answered. "What is it? Merely the bubble of a +day." + +"Well," returned Diana, laughing, "it's the aim and object of a good +many people's lives. It's the bubble I'm in pursuit of, and if I +obtain one half the recognition you have had, I shall be very content." + +Adrienne regarded her musingly. + +"You will be famous when the name of Adrienne de Gervais is known no +longer," she said at last. + +Diana stared at her in surprise. + +"But why? Even if I should succeed, within the next few years, you +will still be Adrienne de Gervais, the famous actress." + +Adrienne smiled across at her. + +"Ah, I cannot tell you why," she said lightly. "But--I think it will +be like that." + +Her eyes gazed dreamily into space, as though she perceived some vision +of the future, but whether that future were of rose and gold or only of +a dull grey, Diana could not tell. + +Of Max Errington she saw very little. It seemed as though he were +determined to avoid her, for she frequently saw him leaving Adrienne's +house on a day when she was expected there--hurrying away just as she +herself was approaching from the opposite end of the street. + +Only once or twice, when she had chanced to pay an unexpected visit, +had he come in and found her there. On these occasions his manner had +been studiously cold and indifferent, and any effort on her part +towards establishing a more friendly footing had been invariably +checked by some cruelly ironical remark, which had brought the blood to +her cheeks and, almost, the tears to her eyes. She reflected grimly +that Olga Lermontof's warning words had proved decidedly superfluous. + +Meanwhile, she had struck up a friendship with Errington's private +secretary, a young man of the name of Jerry Leigh, who was a frequent +visitor at Adrienne's house. Jerry was, in truth, the sort of person +with whom it was impossible to be otherwise than friendly. He was of a +delightful ugliness, twenty-five years of age, penniless except for the +salary he received from Errington, and he possessed a talent for +friendship much as other folk possess a talent for music or art or +dancing. + +Diana's first meeting with him had occurred quite by chance. Both +Adrienne and Mrs. Adams happened to be out one afternoon when she +called, and she was awaiting their return when the door of the +drawing-room suddenly opened to admit a remarkably plain young man, +who, on seeing her ensconced in one of the big arm-chairs, stood +hesitating as though undecided whether to remain or to take refuge in +instant flight. + +Adrienne had talked so much about Jerry--of whom she was exceedingly +fond--and had so often described his charming ugliness to Diana that +the latter was in no doubt at all as to whom the newcomer might be. + +She nodded to him reassuringly. + +"Don't run away," she said calmly, "I don't bite." + +The young man promptly closed the door and advanced into the room. + +"Don't you?" he said in relieved tones. "Thank you for telling me. +One never knows." + +"If you've come to see Miss de Gervais, I'm afraid you can't at +present, as she's out," pursued Diana. "I'm waiting for her." + +"Then we can wait together," returned Mr. Leigh, with an engaging +smile. "It will be much more amusing than waiting in solitude, won't +it?" + +"That I can't tell you--yet," replied Diana demurely. + +"I'll ask you again in half an hour," he returned undaunted. "I'm +Leigh, you know. Jerry Leigh, Errington's secretary." + +"I suppose, then, you're a very busy person?" + +"Well, pretty much so in the mornings and sometimes up till late at +night, but Errington's a rattling good 'boss' and very often gives me +an 'afternoon out.' That's why I'm here now. I'm off duty and Miss de +Gervais told me I might come to tea whenever I'm free. You +see"--confidentially--"I've very few friends in London." + +"Same here," responded Diana shortly. + +"No, not really?"--with obvious satisfaction. "Then we ought to pal up +together, oughtn't we?" + +"Don't you want my credentials?" asked Diana, smiling, + +"Lord, no! One has only to look at you." + +Diana laughed outright. + +"That's quite the nicest compliment I've ever received, Mr. Leigh," she +said. + +(It was odd that while Errington always made her feel rather small and +depressingly young, with Jerry Leigh she felt herself to be quite a +woman of the world.) + +"It isn't a compliment," protested Jerry stoutly. "It's just the +plain, unvarnished truth." + +"I'm afraid your 'boss' wouldn't agree with you." + +"Oh, nonsense!" + +"Indeed it isn't. He always treats me as though I were a hot potato, +and he were afraid of burning his fingers." + +Jerry roared. + +"Well, perhaps he's got good reason." + +Diana shook; her head smilingly. + +"Oh, no. It's not that. Mr. Errington doesn't like me." + +Jerry stared at her reflectively. + +"That couldn't be true," he said at last, with conviction. + +"I don't know that I like him--very much--either," pursued Diana. + +"You would if you really knew him," said the boy eagerly. "He's one of +the very best." + +"He's rather a mysterious person, don't you think?" + +Jerry regarded her very straightly. + +"Oh, well," he returned bluntly, "every man's a right to have his own +private affairs." + +Then there _was_ something! + +Diana felt her heart beat a little faster. She had thrown out the +remark as the merest feeler, and now his own secretary, the man who +must be nearer to him than any other, had given what was tantamount to +an acknowledgment of the fact that Errington's life held some secret. + +"Anyway"--Jerry was speaking again--"_I've_ got good reason to be +grateful to him. I was on my uppers when he happened along--and +without any prospect of re-soling. I'd played the fool at Monte Carlo, +and, like a brick, he offered me the job of private secretary, and I've +been with him ever since. I'd no references, either--he just took me +on trust." + +"That was very kind of him," said Diana slowly. + +"Kind! There isn't one man in a hundred who'll give a chance like that +to a young ass that's played the goat as I did." + +"No," agreed Diana. "But," she added, rather low, "he isn't always +kind." + +At this moment the door opened, and the subject of their conversation +entered the room. He paused on the threshold, and for an instant Diana +could have sworn that as his eyes met her own a sudden light of +pleasure flashed into their blue depths, only to be immediately +replaced by his usual look of cold indifference. He glanced round the +room, apparently somewhat surprised to find Diana and his secretary its +sole occupants. + +"We're all here now except our hostess," observed the latter +cheerfully, following his thought. + +"So it seems. I didn't know"--looking across from Jerry to Diana in a +puzzled way--"that you two were acquainted with each other." + +"We aren't--at least, we weren't," replied Jerry. "We met by chance, +like two angels that have made a bid for the same cloud." + +Errington smiled faintly. + +"And did you persuade your--fellow angel--to sing to you?" he asked +drily. + +"No. Does she sing?" + +"_Does she sing_? . . . Jerry, my young and ignorant friend, let me +introduce you to Miss Diana Quentin, the--" + +"Good Lord!" broke in Jerry, his face falling. "Are you Miss +Quentin--_the_ Miss Quentin? Of course I've heard all about +you.--you're going to be the biggest star in the musical firmament--and +here have I been gassing away about my little affairs just as though +you were an ordinary mortal like myself." + +Diana was beginning to laugh at the boy's nonsense when Errington cut +in quietly. + +"Then you've been making a great mistake, Jerry," he said. "Miss +Quentin doesn't in the least resemble ordinary mortals. She isn't +afflicted by like passions with ourselves, and she doesn't +understand--or forgive them." + +The words, uttered as though in jest, held an undercurrent of meaning +for Diana that sent the colour flying up under her clear skin. There +was a bitter taunt in them that none knew better than she how to +interpret. + +She winced under it, and a fierce resentment flared up within her that +he should dare to reproach, her--he, who had been the offender from +first to last. Always, now, he seemed to be laughing at her, mocking +her. He appeared an entirely different person from the man who had +been so careful of her welfare during the eventful journey they had +made together. + +She lifted her head a little defiantly. + +"No," she said, with significance. "I certainly don't understand--some +people." + +"Perhaps it's just as well," retorted Errington, unmoved. + +Jerry, sensing electricity in the atmosphere, looked troubled and +uncomfortable. He hadn't the faintest idea what they were talking +about, but it was perfectly clear to him that everything was not quite +as it should be between his beloved Max and this new friend, this jolly +little girl with the wonderful eyes--just like a pair of stars, by +Jove!--and, if rumour spoke truly, the even more wonderful voice. + +Bashfully murmuring something about "going down to see if Miss de +Gervais had come in yet," he bolted out of the room, leaving Max and +Diana alone together. + +Suddenly she turned and faced him. + +"Why--why are you always so unkind to me?" she burst out, a little +breathlessly. + +He lifted his brows. + +"I? . . . My dear Miss Quentin, I have no right to be either kind--or +unkind--to you. That is surely the privilege of friends. And you +showed me quite clearly, down at Crailing, that you did not intend to +admit me to your friendship." + +"I didn't," she exclaimed, and rushed on desperately. "Was it likely +that I should feel anything but gratitude--and liking for any one who +had done as much for me as you had?" + +"You forget," he said quietly. "Afterwards--I transgressed. And you +let me see that the transgression had wiped out my meritorious +deeds--completely. It was quite the best thing that could happen," he +added hastily, as she would have spoken. "I had no right, less right +than any man on earth, to do--what I did. I abide by your decision." + +The last words came slowly, meaningly. He was politely telling her +that any overtures of friendship would be rejected. + +Diana's pride lay in the dust, but she was determined he should not +knew it. With her head held high, she said stiffly:-- + +"I don't think I'll wait any longer for Adrienne. Will you tell her, +please, that I've gone back to Brutton Square?" + +"Brutton Square?" he repeated swiftly. "Do you live there?" + +"Yes. Have you any objection?" + +He disregarded her mocking query and continued:-- + +"A Miss Lermontof lives there. Is she, by any chance, a friend of +yours?" There seemed a hint of disapproval in his voice, and Diana +countered, with another question. + +"Why? Do you think I ought not to be friends with her?" + +"I? Oh, I don't think about it at all"--with a little half-foreign +shrug of his shoulders. "Miss Quentin's choice of friends is no +concern of mine." + +Unbidden, tears leaped into Diana's eyes at the cold satirical tones. +Surely, surely he had hurt her enough, for one day! Without a word she +turned and made her way blindly out of the room and down the stairs. +In the hall she almost ran into Jerry's arms. + +"Oh, are you going?" he asked, in tones of disappointment. + +"Yea, I'm afraid I mustn't wait any longer for Adrienne. I have some +work to do when I get back." + +Her voice shook a little, and Jerry, giving her a swift glance, could +see that her lashes were wet and her eyes misty with tears. + +"The brute!" he ejaculated mentally. "What's he done to her?" + +Aloud he merely said:-- + +"Will you have a taxi?" + +She nodded, and hailing one that chanced to be passing, he put her +carefully into it. + +"And--and I say," he said anxiously. "You didn't mind my talking to +you this afternoon, did you, Miss Quentin? I made 'rather free,' as +the servants say." + +"No, of course I didn't mind," she replied warmly, her spirits rising a +little. He was such a nice boy--the sort of boy one could be pals +with. "You must come and see me at Brutton Square. Come to tea one +day, will you?" + +"_Won't I_?" he said heartily. "Good-bye." And the taxi swept away +down the street. + +Jerry returned to the drawing-room to find Errington staring moodily +out of the window. + +"I say, Max," he said, affectionately linking his arm in that of the +older man. "What had you been saying to upset that dear little person?" + +"I?" + +"Yes. She was--crying." + +Jerry felt the arm against his own twitch, and continued relentlessly:-- + +"I believe you've been snubbing her. You know, old man, you have a +sort of horribly lordly, touch-me-not air about you when you choose. +But I don't see why you should choose with Miss Quentin. She's such an +awfully good sort." + +"Yes," agreed Errington. "Miss Quentin is quite charming." + +"She thinks you don't like her," pursued Jerry, after a moment's pause. + +"I--not like Miss Quentin? Absurd!" + +"Well, that's what she thinks, anyway," persisted Jerry. "She told me +so, and she seemed really sorry about it. She believes you don't want +to be friends with her." + +"Miss Quentin's friendship would be delightful. But--you don't +understand, Jerry--it's one of the delights I must forego." + +When Errington spoke with such a definite air of finality, his young +secretary knew from experience that he might as well drop the subject. +He could get nothing further out of Max, once the latter had adopted +that tone over any matter. So Jerry, being wise in his generation, +held his peace. + +Suddenly Errington faced round and laid his hands on the boy's shoulder. + +"Jerry," he said, and his voice shook with some deep emotion. "Thank +God--thank Him every day of your life--that you're free and +untrammelled. All the world's yours if you choose to take it. Some of +us are shackled--our arms tied behind our backs. And oh, my God! How +they ache to be free!" + +The blue eyes were full of a keen anguish, the stern mouth wry with +pain. Never before had Jerry seen him thus with the mask off, and he +felt as though he were watching a soul's agony unveiled. + +"Max . . . dear old chap . . ." he stammered. "Can't I help?" + +With an obvious effort Errington regained his composure, but his face +was grey as he answered:-- + +"Neither you nor any one else, Jerry, boy. I must dree my weird, as +the Scotch say. And that's the hard part of it--to be your own judge +and jury. A man ought not to be compelled to play the double role of +victim and executioner." + +"And must you? . . . No way out?" + +"None. Unless"--with a hard laugh--"the executioner throws up the game +and--runs away, allowing the victim to escape. And that's +impossible! . . . Impossible!" he reiterated vehemently, as though +arguing against some inner voice. + +"Let him rip," suggested Jerry. "Give the accused a chance!" + +Errington laughed more naturally. He was rapidly regaining his usual +self-possession. + +"Jerry, you're a good pal, but a bad adviser. Get thee behind me." + +Steps sounded on the stairs outside. Adrienne and Mrs. Adams had come +back, and Errington turned composedly to greet them, the veil of +reticence, momentarily swept aside by the surge of a sudden emotion, +falling once more into its place. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE YEAR'S FRUIT + +Spring had slipped into summer, summer had given place again to winter, +and once more April was come, with her soft breath blowing upon the +sticky green buds and bidding them open, whilst daffodils and tulips, +like slim sentinels, swayed above the brown earth, in a riot of tender +colour. + +There is something very fresh and charming about London in April. The +parks are aglow with young green, and the trees nod cheerfully to the +little breeze that dances round them, whispering of summer. Even the +houses perk up under their spruce new coats of paint, while every +window that can afford it puts forth its carefully tended box of +flowers. It is as though the old city suddenly awoke from her winter +slumber and preened herself like a bird making its toilet; there is an +atmosphere of renewal abroad--the very carters and cabmen seem +conscious of it, and acknowledge it with good-humoured smiles and a +flower worn jauntily in the buttonhole. + +Diana leaned far out of the open window of her room at Brutton Square, +sniffing up the air with its veiled, faint fragrance of spring, and +gazing down in satisfaction at the delicate shimmer of green which +clothed the trees and shrubs in the square below. + +The realisation that a year had slipped away since last the trees had +worn that tender green amazed her; it seemed almost incredible that +twelve whole months had gone by since the day when she had first come +to Brutton Square, and she and Bunty had joked together about the ten +commandments on the wall. + +The year had brought both pleasure and pain--as most years do--pleasure +in the friends she had gathered round her, Adrienne and Jerry and +Bunty--even with Olga Lermontof an odd, rather one-sided friendship had +sprung up, born of the circumstances which had knit their paths +together--pain in the soreness which still lingered from the hurt that +Errington had dealt her. Albeit, her life had been so filled with work +and play, her mind so much occupied, that a surface skin, as it were, +had formed over the wound, and it was only now and again that a sudden +throb reminded her of its existence. Love had brushed her with his +wings in passing, but she was hardly yet a fully awakened woman. + +Nevertheless, the brief episodes of her early acquaintance with +Errington had cut deep into a mind which had hitherto reflected nothing +beyond the simple happenings of a girlhood passed at a country rectory, +and the romantic flair of youth had given their memory a certain sacred +niche in her heart. Some day Fate would come along and take them down +from that shelf where they were stored, and dust them and present them +to her afresh with a new significance. + +For a brief moment Errington's kiss had roused her dormant womanhood, +and then the events of daily life had crowded round and lulled it +asleep once more. In swift succession there had followed the vivid +interest of increasing musical study, the stirrings of ambition, and a +whole world of new people to meet and rub shoulders with. + +So that the end of her second year in London found Diana still little +more than an impetuous, impulsive girl, possessed of a warm, +undisciplined nature, and of an unconscious desire to fulfil her being +along the most natural and easy lines, while in spirit she leaped +forward to the time when she should be plunged into professional life. + +The whole of her training under Baroni, with the big future that it +held, tended to give her a somewhat egotistical outlook, an instinctive +feeling that everything must of necessity subordinate itself to her +demands--an excellent foundation, no doubt, on which to build up a +reputation as a famous singer in a world where people are apt to take +you very much at your own valuation, but a poor preparation for the +sacrifices and self-immolation that love not infrequently demands. + +Above all else, this second year of study had brought in fullest +measure the development and enriching of her voice. Baroni had +schooled it with the utmost care, keeping always in view his purpose +that the coming June should witness her debut, and Diana, catching fire +from his enthusiasm, had answered to every demand he had made upon her. + +Her voice was now something to marvel at. It had matured into a rich +contralto of amazing compass, and with a peculiar thrilling quality +about it which gripped and held you almost as though some one had laid +a hand upon your heart. Baroni hugged himself as he realised what a +_furore_ in the musical world this voice would create when at last he +allowed the silence to be broken. Already there were whispers flying +about of the wonderful contralto he was training, of whom it was +rumoured that she would have the whole world at her feet from the +moment that Baroni produced her. + +The old _maestro_ had his plans all cut and dried. Early in June, just +when the season should be in full swing, there was to be a concert--a +recital with only Kirolski, the Polish violinist, and Madame Berthe +Louvigny, the famous French pianist, to assist. Those two names alone +would inevitably draw a big crowd of all the musical people who +mattered, and Diana's golden voice would do the rest. + +This was to be the solitary concert for the season, but, to whet the +appetite of society, Diana was also to appear at a single big +reception--"Baroni won't look at anything less than a ducal house with +Royalty present," as Jerry banteringly asserted--and then, while the +world was still agape with interest and excitement, the singer was to +be whisked away to Crailing for three months' holiday, and to accept no +more engagements until the winter. By that time, Baroni anticipated, +people would be feverishly impatient for her reappearance, and the +winter campaign would resolve itself into one long trail of glory. + +Diana had been better able latterly to devote herself to her work, as +Errington had been out of England for a time. So long as there was the +likelihood of meeting him at any moment, her nerves had been more or +less in a state of tension. There was that between them which made it +impossible for her to regard him with the cool, indifferent friendship +which he himself seemed so well able to assume. Despite herself, the +sound of his voice, the touch of his hand, caused a curious little +fluttering within her, like the flicker of a compass needle when it +quivers to the north. If he entered the same room as herself, she was +instantly aware of it, even though she might not chance to be looking +in his direction at the moment. Indeed, her consciousness of him was +so acute, so vital, that she sometimes wondered how it was possible +that one person could mean so much to another and yet himself feel no +reciprocal interest. And that he did feel none, his unvarying +indifference of manner had at last convinced her. + +But, even so, she was unable to banish him from her thoughts. This was +the first day of her return to London after the Easter holidays, which +she had spent as usual at Crailing Rectory, and already she was +wondering rather wistfully whether Errington would be back in England +during the summer. She felt that if only she could know why he had +changed so completely towards her, why the interest she had so +obviously awakened in him upon first meeting had waned and died, she +might be able to thrust him completely out of her thoughts, and accept +him merely as the casual acquaintance which was all he apparently +claimed to be. But the restless, irritable longing to know, to have +his incomprehensible behaviour explained, kept him ever in her mind. + +Only once or twice had his name been mentioned between Olga Lermontof +and herself, and on each occasion the former had repeated her caution, +admonishing Diana to have nothing to do with him. It almost seemed as +though she had some personal feeling of dislike towards him. Indeed +Diana had accused her of it, only to be met with a quiet negative. + +"No," she had replied serenely. "I don't dislike him. But I +disapprove of much that he does." + +"He is rather an attractive person," Diana ventured tentatively. + +Olga Lermontof shot a keen glance at her. + +"Well, I advise you not to give him your friendship," she said, +"or"--sneeringly--"anything of greater value." + +A sharp rat-tat at the door of her sitting-room recalled Diana's +wandering thoughts to the present. She threw a glance of half-comic +dismay at the state of her sitting-room--every available chair and +table seemed to be strewn with the contents of the trunks she was +unpacking--and then, with a resigned shrug of her shoulders, she +crossed to the door and threw it open. Bunty was standing outside. + +"What is it?" Diana was beginning, when she caught sight of a pleasant, +ugly face appearing over little Miss Bunting's shoulder. "Oh, Jerry, +is it you?" she exclaimed delightedly. + +"He insisted on coming up, Miss Quentin," said Bunty, "although I told +him you had only just arrived and would be in the middle of unpacking." + +"I've got an important message to deliver," asserted Jerry, grinning, +and shaking both Diana's hands exuberantly. + +"Oh, never mind the unpacking," cried Diana, beginning to bundle the +things off the tables and chairs back into one of the open trunks. +"Bunty darling, help me to clear a space, and then go and order tea for +two up here--and expense be blowed! Oh, and I'll put a match to the +fire--it's quite cold enough. Come in, Jerry, and tell me all the +news." + +"I'll light that fire first," said Jerry, practically. "We can talk +when Bunty darling brings our tea." + +Miss Bunting shook her head at him and tried to frown but as no one +ever minded in the least what Jerry said, her effort at propriety was a +failure, and she retreated to set about the tea, observing +maliciously:-- + +"I'll send 'Mrs. Lawrence darling' up to talk to you, Mr. Leigh." + +"Great Jehosaphat!"--Jerry flew after her to the door--"If you do, I'm +off. That woman upsets my digestion--she's so beastly effusive. I +thought she was going to kiss me last time." + +Miss Bunting laughed as she disappeared downstairs. + +"You're safe to-day," she threw back at him. "She's out." + +Jerry returned to his smouldering fire and proceeded to encourage it +with the bellows till, by the time the tea came up, the flames were +leaping and crackling cheerfully in the little grate. + +"And now," said Diana, as they settled themselves for a comfortable +yarn over the teacups, "tell me all the news. Oh by the way, what's +your important message? I don't believe"--regarding him +severely--"that you've got one at all. It was just an excuse." + +"It wasn't, honour bright. It's from Miss de Gervais--she sent me +round to see you expressly. You know, while Errington's away I call at +her place for orders like the butcher's boy every morning. The boss +asked me to look after her and make myself useful during his absence." + +"Well," said Diana impatiently. "What's the message?" It did not +interest her in the least to hear about the arrangements Max had made +for Adrienne's convenience. + +"Miss de Gervais is having a reception--'Hans Breitmann gif a barty,' +you know--" + +"Of course I know," broke in Diana irritably, "seeing that I'm asked to +it." + +Jerry continued patiently. + +"And she wants you as a special favour to sing for her. As a matter of +fact there are to be one or two bigwigs there whom she thinks it might +be useful for you to meet--influence, you know," he added, waving his +hand expansively, "push, shove, hacking, wire-pulling--" + +"Oh, be quiet, Jerry," interrupted Diana, laughing in spite of herself. +"It's no good, you know. It's dear of Adrienne to think of it, but +Baroni won't let me do it. He hasn't allowed me to sing anywhere this +last year." + +"Doesn't want to take the cream off the milk, I suppose," said Jerry, +with a grin. "But, as a matter of fact, he _has_ given permission this +time. Miss de Gervais went to see him about it herself, and he's +consented. I've got a letter for you from the old chap"--producing it +as he spoke. + +"Adrienne is a marvel," said Diana, as she slit the flap of the +envelope. "I'm sure Baroni would have refused any one else, but she +seems to be able to twist him round her little finger." + +"Dear Mis Quentin"--Baroni had written in his funny, cramped +handwriting--"You may sing for Miss de Gervais. I have seen the list +of guests and it can do no harm--possibly a little good. Yours very +sincerely, CARLO BARONI." + +"Miss de Gervais must have a 'way' with her," said Jerry meditatively. +"I observe that even my boss always does her bidding like a lamb." + +Diana poured herself out a second cup of tea before she asked +negligently:-- + +"When's your 'boss' returning? It seems to me he's allowing you to +live the life of the idle rich. Will he be back for Adrienne's +reception?" + +"No. About a week afterwards, I expect." + +"Where's he been?" + +"Oh, all over the shop--I've had letters from him from half the +capitals in Europe. But he's been in Russia longest of all, I think." + +"Russia?"--musingly. "I suppose he isn't a Russian by any chance?" + +"I've never asked him," returned Jerry shortly. + +"He is certainly not pure English. Look at his high cheek-bones. And +his temperament isn't English, either," she added, with a secret smile. + +Jerry remained silent. + +"Don't you think it's rather funny that we none of us know anything +about him?--I mean beyond the mere fact that his name is Errington and +that he's a well-known playwright." + +"Why do you want to know more?" growled Jerry. + +"Well, I think there is something behind, something odd about him. +Olga Lermontof is always hinting that there is." + +"Look here, Diana," said Jerry, getting rather red. "Don't let's talk +about Errington. You know we always get shirty with each other when we +do. I'm not going to pry into his private concerns--and as for Miss +Lermontof, she's the type of woman who simply revels in making +mischief." + +"But it _is_ funny Mr. Errington should be so--so reserved about +himself," persisted Diana. "Hasn't he ever told you anything?" + +"No, he has not," replied Jerry curtly. "Nor should I ever ask him to. +I'm quite content to take him as I find him." + +"All the same, I believe Miss Lermontof knows something about +him--something not quite to his credit." + +"I swear she doesn't," burst out Jerry violently. "Just because he +doesn't choose to blab out all his private affairs to the world at +large, that black-browed female Tartar must needs imagine he has +something to conceal. It's damnable! I'd stake my life Errington's as +straight as a die--and always has been." + +"You're a good friend, Jerry," said Diana, rather wistfully. + +"Yes, I am," he returned stoutly. "And so are you, as a rule. I can't +think why you're so beastly unfair to Errington." + +"You forget," she said swiftly, "he's not my friend. And perhaps--he +hasn't always been quite fair to me." + +"Oh, well, let's drop the subject now"--Jerry wriggled his broad +shoulders uncomfortably. "Tell me, how are the Rector and--and Miss +Stair?" + +The previous summer Jerry had spent a week at Red Gables, and had made +Joan's acquaintance. Apparently the two had found each other's society +somewhat absorbing, for Adrienne had laughingly declared that she +didn't quite know whether Jerry were really staying at Red Gables or at +the Rectory. + +"Pobs and Joan sent all sorts of nice messages for you," said Diana, +smiling a little. "They're both coming up to town for my recital, you +know." + +"Are they?"--eagerly. "Hurrah! . . . We must go on the bust when it's +over. The concert will be in the afternoon, won't it?" Diana nodded. +"Then we must have a commemoration dinner in the evening. Oh, why am I +not a millionaire? Then I'd stand you all dinner at the 'Carlton.'" + +He was silent a moment, then went on quickly: + +"I shall have to make money somehow. A man can't marry on my screw as +a secretary, you know." + +Diana hastily concealed a smile. + +"I didn't know you were contemplating matrimony," she observed. + +"I'm not"--reddening a little. "But--well, one day I expect I shall. +It's quite the usual sort of thing--done by all the best people. But +it can't be managed on two hundred a year! And that's the net amount +of my princely income." + +"But I thought that your people had plenty of money?" + +"So they have--trucks of it. Coal-trucks!"--with a debonair reference +to the fact that Leigh _pere_ was a wealthy coal-owner. "But, you see, +when I was having my fling, which came to such an abrupt end at Monte, +the governor got downright ratty with me--kicked up no end of a shine. +Told me not to darken his doors again, and that I might take my own +road to the devil for all he cared, and generally played the part of +the outraged parent. I must say," he added ingenuously, "that the old +boy had paid my debts and set me straight a good many times before he +_did_ cut up rusty." + +"You're the only child, aren't you?" Jerry nodded. "Oh, well then, of +course he'll come round in time--they always do. I shouldn't worry a +bit if I were you." + +"Well," said Jerry hesitatingly, "I did think that perhaps if I went to +him some day with a certificate of good character and steady work from +Errington, it might smooth matters a bit. I'm fond of the governor, +you know, in spite of his damn bad temper--and it must be rather rotten +for the old chap living all by himself at Abbotsleigh." + +"Yes, it must. One fine day you'll make it up with him, Jerry, and +he'll slay the fatted calf and you'll have no end of a good time." + +Just then the clock of a neighbouring church chimed the half-hour, and +Jerry jumped to his feet in a hurry. + +"My hat! Half-past six! I must be toddling. What a squanderer of +unconsidered hours you are, Diana! . . . Well, by-bye, old girl; it's +good to see you back in town. Then I may tell Miss de Gervais that +you'll sing for her?" + +Diana nodded. + +"Of course I will. It will be a sort of preliminary canter for my +recital." + +"And when that event comes off, you'll sail past the post lengths in +front of any one else." + +And with that Jerry took his departure. A minute later Diana heard the +front door bang, and from the window watched him striding along the +street. He looked back, just before he turned the corner, and waved +his hand cheerily. + +"Nice boy!" she murmured, and then set about her unpacking in good +earnest. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +MAX ERRINGTON'S RETURN + +It was the evening of Adrienne's reception, and Diana was adding a few +last touches to her toilette for the occasion. Bunty had been playing +the part of lady's maid, and now they both stood back to observe the +result of their labours. + +"You do look nice!" remarked Miss Bunting, in a tone of satisfaction. + +Diana glanced half-shyly into the long glass panel of the wardrobe +door. There was something vivid and arresting about her to-night, as +though she were tremulously aware that she was about to take the first +step along her road as a public singer. A touch of excitement had +added an unwonted brilliance to her eyes, while a faint flush came and +went swiftly in her cheeks. + +Bunty, without knowing quite what it was that appealed, was suddenly +conscious of the sheer physical charm of her. + +"You are rather wonderful," she said consideringly. + +A sense of the sharp contrast between them smote Diana almost +painfully--she herself, young and radiant, holding in her slender +throat a key that would unlock the doors of the whole world, and beside +her the little boarding-house help, equally young, and with all youth's +big demands pent up within her, yet ahead of her only a drab vista of +other boarding-houses--some better, some worse, mayhap--but always +eating the bread of servitude, her only possible way of escape by means +of matrimony with some little underpaid clerk. + +And what had Bunty done to deserve so poor a lot? Hers was +unquestionably by far the finer character of the two, as Diana frankly +admitted to herself. In truth, the apparent injustices of fate made a +riddle hard to read. + +"And you,"--Diana spoke impulsively--"you are the dearest thing +imaginable. I wish you were coming with me." + +"I should like to hear you sing in those big rooms," acknowledged +Bunty, a little wistfully. + +"When I give my recital you shall have a seat in the front row," Diana +promised, as she picked up her gloves and music-case. + +A tap sounded at the door. + +"Are you ready?" inquired Olga Lermontof a voice from outside. + +Bunty opened the door. + +"Oh, come in, Miss Lermontof. Yes, Miss Quentin is quite ready, and I +must run away now." + +Olga came in and stood for a moment looking at Diana. Then she +deliberately stepped close to her, so that their reflections showed +side by side in the big mirror. + +"Black and white angels--quite symbolical," she observed, with a short +laugh. + +She was dressed entirely in black, and her sable figure made a +startling foil to Diana's slender whiteness. + +"Nervous?" she asked laconically, noticing the restless tapping of the +other's foot. + +"I believe I am," replied Diana, smiling a little. + +"You needn't be." + +"I should be terrified if anyone else were accompanying me. But, +somehow, I think you always give me confidence when I'm singing." + +"Probably because I'm always firmly convinced of your ultimate success." + +"No, no. It isn't that. It's because you're the most perfect +accompanist any one could have." + +Miss Lermontof swept her a mocking curtsey. + +"_Mille remerciments_!" Then she laughed rather oddly. "I believe you +still have no conception of the glory of your voice, you queer child." + +"Is it really so good?" asked Diana, with the genuine artist's craving +to be reassured. + +Olga Lermontof looked at her speculatively. + +"I suppose you can't understand it at present," she said, after a +pause. "You will, though, when you've given a few concerts and seen +its effect upon the audience. Now, come along; it's time we started." + +They found Adrienne's rooms fairly full, but not in the least +overcrowded. The big double doors between the two drawing-rooms had +been thrown open, and the tide of people flowed back and forth from one +room to the other. A small platform had been erected at one end, and +as Diana and Miss Lermontof entered, a French _diseuse_ was just +ascending it preparatory to reciting in her native tongue. + +The recitation--vivid, accompanied by the direct, expressive gesture +for which Mademoiselle de Bonvouloir was so famous--was followed at +appropriate intervals by one or two items of instrumental music, and +then Diana found herself mounting the little platform, and a hush +descended anew upon the throng of people, the last eager chatterers +twittering into silence as Olga Lermontof struck the first note of the +song's prelude. + +Diana was conscious of a small sea of faces all turned towards her, +most of them unfamiliar. She could just see Adrienne smiling at her +from the back of the room, and near the double doors Jerry was standing +next a tall man whose back was towards the platform as he bent to move +aside a chair that was in the way. The next moment he had straightened +himself and turned round, and with a sudden, almost agonising leap of +the heart Diana saw that it was Max Errington. + +He had come back! After that first wild throb her heart seemed, to +stand still, the room grew dark around her, and, she swayed a little +where she stood. + +"Nervous!" murmured one man to another, beneath his breath. + +Olga Lermontof had finished the prelude, and, finding that Diana had +failed to come in, composedly recommenced it. Diana was dimly +conscious of the repetition, and then the mist gradually cleared away +from before her eyes, and this time, when the accompanist played the +bar of her entry, the habit of long practice prevailed and she took up +the voice part with accurate precision. + +The hush deepened in the room. Perhaps the very emotion under which +Diana was labouring added to the charm of her wonderful voice--gave it +an indescribable appeal which held the critical audience, familiar with +all the best that the musical world could offer, spell-bound. + +When she ceased, and the last exquisite note had vibrated into silence, +the enthusiasm of the applause that broke out would have done justice +to a theatre pit audience rather than to a more or less blase society +crowd. And when the whisper went round that this was to be her only +song--that Baroni had laid his veto upon her singing twice--the +clapping and demands for an encore were redoubled. + +Olga Lermontof's eyes, roaming over the room, rested at last upon the +face of Max Errington, and with the recollection of Diana's hesitancy +at the beginning of the song a brief smile flashed across her face. + +"What shall I do?" Diana, who had bowed repeatedly without stemming +the applause, turned to the accompanist, a little flushed with the +thrill of this first public recognition of her gifts. + +"Sing 'The Haven of Memory,'" whispered Olga. + +It was a sad little love lyric which Baroni himself had set to music +specially for the voice of his favourite pupil, and as Diana's low rich +notes took up the plaintive melody, the audience settled itself down +with a sigh of satisfaction to listen once more. + + + Do you remember + Our great love's pure unfolding, + The troth you gave, + And prayed for God's upholding, + Long and long ago? + + Out of the past + A dream--and then the waking-- + Comes back to me, + Of love and love's forsaking + Ere the summer waned. + + Ah! let me dream + That still a little kindness + Dwelt in the smile + That chid my foolish blindness, + When you said good-bye. + + Let me remember, + When I am very lonely, + How once your love + But crowned and blessed me only, + Long and long ago! [1] + + +The haunting melody ceased, and an infinitesimal pause ensued before +the clapping broke out. It was rather subdued this time; more than one +pair of eyes were looking at the singer through the grey mist of memory. + +An old lady with very white hair and a reputation for a witty tongue +that had been dipped in vinegar came up to Diana as she descended from +the platform. + +"My dear," she said, and the keen old eyes were suddenly blurred and +dim. "I want to thank you. One is apt to forget--when one is very +lonely--that we've most of us worn love's crown just once--if only for +a few moments of our lives. . . . And it's good to be reminded of it, +even though it may hurt a little." + +"That was the Dowager Duchess of Linfield," murmured Olga, when the old +lady had moved away again. "They say she was madly in love with an +Italian opera singer in the days of her youth. But, of course, at that +time he was quite unknown and altogether ineligible, so she married the +late Duke, who was old enough to be her father. By the time he died +the opera singer was dead, too." + +That was Diana's first taste of the power of a beautiful voice to +unlock the closed chambers of the heart where lie our hidden +memories--the long pain of years, sometimes unveiled to those whose +gifts appeal directly to the emotions. It sobered her a little. This, +then, she thought, this leaf of rue that seemed to bring the sadness of +the world so close, was interwoven with the crown of laurel. + +"Won't you say how do you do to me, Miss Quentin? I've been deputed by +Miss de Gervais to see that you have some supper after breaking all our +hearts with your singing." + +Diana, roused from her thoughts, looked up to see Max Errington +regarding her with the old, faintly amused mockery in his eyes. + +She shook hands. + +"I don't believe you've got a heart to break," she retorted, smiling. + +"Oh, mine was broken long before I heard you sing. Otherwise I would +not answer for the consequences of that sad little song of yours. What +is it called?" + +"'The Haven of Memory,'" replied Diana, as Errington skilfully piloted +her to a small table standing by itself in an alcove of the supper-room. + +"What a misleading name! Wouldn't 'The _Hell_ of Memory' be more +appropriate--more true to life?" + +"I suppose," answered Diana soberly, "that it might appear differently +to different people." + +"You mean that the garden of memory may have several aspects--like a +house? I'm afraid mine faces north. Yours, I expect, is full of +spring flowers"--smiling a little quizzically. + +"With the addition of a few weeds," she answered. + +"Weeds? Surely not? Who planted them there?" His keen, penetrating +eyes were fixed on her face. + +Diana was silent, her fingers trifling nervously with the salt in one +of the little silver cruets, first piling it up into a tiny mound, and +then flattening it down again and patterning its surface with +criss-cross lines. + +There was no one near. In the alcove Errington had chosen, the two +were completely screened from the rest of the room by a carved oak +pillar and velvet curtains. + +He laid his hand over the restless fingers, holding them in a sure, +firm clasp that brought back vividly to her mind the remembrance of +that day when he had helped her up the steps of the quayside at +Crailing. + +"Diana"--his voice deepened a little--"am I responsible for any of the +weeds in your garden?" + +Her hand trembled a little under his. After a moment she threw back +her head defiantly and met his glance. + +"Perhaps there's a stinging-nettle or two labelled with your name," she +answered lightly. "The Nettlewort Erringtonia," she added, smiling. + +Diana was growing up rapidly. + +"I suppose," he said slowly, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you +that I'm sorry--that I'd uproot them if I could?" + +She looked away from him in silence. He could not see her expression, +only the pure outline of her cheek and a little pulse that was beating +rapidly in her throat. + +With a sudden, impetuous movement he released her hand, almost flinging +it from him. + +"My application for the post of gardener is refused, I see," he said. +"And quite rightly, too. It was great presumption on my part. After +all"--with bitter mockery--"what are a handful of nettles in the garden +of a _prima donna_? They'll soon be stifled beneath the wreaths of +laurel and bouquets that the world will throw you. You'll never even +feel their sting." + +"You are wrong," said Diana, very low, "quite wrong. They _have_ stung +me. Mr. Errington"--and as she turned to him he saw that her eyes were +brimming with tears--"why can't we be friends? You--you have helped me +so many times that I don't understand why you treat me now . . . almost +as though I were an enemy?" + +"An enemy? . . . You!" + +"Yes," she said steadily. + +He was silent. + +"I don't wish to be," she went on, an odd wistfulness in her voice. +"Can't we--be friends?" + +Errington pushed his plate aside abruptly. + +"You don't know what you're offering me," he said, in hurrying tones. +"If I could only take it! . . . But I've no right to make friends--no +right. I think I've been singled out by fate to live alone." + +"Yet you are friends with Miss de Gervais," she said quickly. + +"I write plays for her," he replied evasively. "So that we are obliged +to see a good deal of each other." + +"And apparently you don't want to be friends with me." + +"There can be little in common between a mere quill-driver and--a +_prima donna_." + +She turned on him swiftly. + +"You seem to forget that at present you are a famous dramatist, while I +am merely a musical student." + +"You divested yourself of that title for ever this evening," he +returned, "It was no 'student' who sang 'The Haven of Memory.'" + +"All the same I shall have to study for a long time yet, Baroni tells +me,"--smiling a little. + +"In that sense a great artiste is always a student. But what I meant +by saying that a mere writer has no place in a prima donna's life was +that, whereas my work is more or less a hobby, and my little bit of +'fame'--as you choose to call it--merely a side-issue, _your_ work will +be your whole existence. You will live for it entirely--your art and +the world's recognition of it will absorb every thought. There will be +no room in your life for the friendship of insignificant people like +myself." + +"Try me," she said demurely. + +He swung round on her with a sudden fierceness. + +"By God!" he exclaimed. "If you knew the temptation . . . if you knew +how I long to take what you offer!" + +She smiled at him--a slow, sweet smile that curved her mouth, and +climbing to her eyes lit them with a soft radiance. + +"Well?" she said quietly. "Why not?" + +He got up abruptly, and going to the window, stood with his back to +her, looking out into the night. + +She watched him consideringly. Intuitively she knew that he was +fighting a battle with himself. She had always been conscious of the +element of friction in their intercourse. This evening it had suddenly +crystallised into a definite realisation that although this man desired +to be her friend--Truth, at the bottom of her mental well, whispered +perhaps even something more--he was caught back, restrained by the +knowledge of some obstacle, some hindrance to their friendship of which +she was entirely ignorant. + +She waited in silence. + +Presently he turned back to her, and she gathered from his expression +that he had come to a decision. In the moment that elapsed before he +spoke she had time to be aware of a sudden, almost breathless anxiety, +and instinctively she let her lids fall over her eyes lest he should +read and understand the apprehension in them. + +"Diana." + +His voice came gently and gravely to her ears. With an effort she +looked up and found him regarding her with eyes from which all the old +ironical mockery had fled. They were very steady and kind--kinder than +she had ever believed it possible for them to be. Her throat +contracted painfully, and she stretched out her hand quickly, +pleadingly, like a child. + +He took it between both his, holding it with the delicate care one +accords a flower, as though fearful of hurting it. + +"Diana, I'm going to accept--what you offer me. Heaven knows I've +little right to! There are . . . worlds between you, and me. . . . +But if a man dying of thirst in the desert finds a pool--a pool of +crystal water--is he to be blamed if he drinks--if he quenches his +thirst for a moment? He knows the pool is not his--never can he his. +And when the rightful owner comes along--why, he'll go away, back to +the loneliness of the desert again. But he'll always remember that his +lips have once drunk from the pool--and been refreshed." + +Diana spoke very low and wistfully. + +"He--he must go back to the desert?" + +Errington bent his head. + +"He must go back," he answered. "The gods have decreed him outcast +from life's pleasant places; he is ordained to wander alone--always." + +Diana drew her hand suddenly away from his, and the hasty movement +knocked over the little silver salt-cellar on the table, scattering the +salt on the cloth between them. + +"Oh!" she cried, flushing with distress. "I've spilled the salt +between us--we shall quarrel." + +The electricity in the atmosphere was gone, and Errington laughed gaily. + +"I'm not afraid. See,"--he filled their glasses with wine--"let's +drink to our compact of friendship." + +He raised his glass, clinking it gently against hers, and they drank. +But as Diana replaced her glass on the table, she looked once more in a +troubled way at the little heap of salt that lay on the white cloth. + +"I wish I hadn't spilled it," she said uncertainly. "It's an ill omen. +Some day we shall quarrel." + +Her eyes were grave and brooding, as though some prescience of evil +weighed upon her. + +Errington lifted his glass, smiling. + +"Far be the day," he said lightly. + +But her eyes, meeting his, were still clouded with foreboding. + + +[1] This song, "The Haven of Memory," has been set to music by Isador +Epstein: published by G. Ricordi & Co., 265 Regent Street, W. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE FRIEND WHO STOOD BY + +As the day fixed for her recital approached, Diana became a prey to +intermittent attacks of nerves. + +"Supposing I should fail?" she would sometimes exclaim, in a sudden +spasm of despair. + +Then Baroni would reply quite contentedly:-- + +"My dear Mees Quentin, you will not fail. God has given you the +instrument, and I, Baroni, I haf taught you how to use it. _Gran Dio_! +Fail!" This last accompanied by a snort of contempt. + +Or it might be Olga Lermontof to whom Diana would confide her fears. +She, equally with the old _maestro_, derided the possibility of +failure, and there was something about her cool assurance of success +that always sufficed to steady Diana's nerves, at least for the time +being. + +"As I have you to accompany me," Diana told her one day, when she was +ridiculing the idea of failure, "I may perhaps get through all right. +I simply _lean_ on you when I'm singing. I feel like a boat floating +on deep water--almost as though I couldn't sink." + +"Well, you can't." Miss Lermontof spoke with conviction. "I shan't +break down--I could play everything you sing blindfold!--and your voice +is . . . Oh, well"--hastily--"I can't talk about your voice. But I +believe I could forgive you anything in the world when you sing." + +Diana stared at her in surprise. She had no idea that Olga was +particularly affected by her singing. + +"It's rather absurd, isn't it?" continued the Russian, a mocking light +in her eyes that somehow reminded Diana of Max Errington. "But there +it is. A little triangular box in your throat and a breath of air from +your lungs--and immediately you hold one's heart in your hands!" + +Alan Stair and Joan came up to London the day before that on which the +recital was to take place, since Diana had insisted that they must fix +their visit so that the major part of it should follow, instead of +preceding the concert. + +"For"--as she told them--"if I fail, it will be nice to have you two +dear people to console me, and if I succeed, I shall be just in the +right mood to take a holiday and play about with you both. Whereas +until my fate is sealed, one way or the other, I shall be like a bear +with a sore head." + +But when the day actually arrived her nervousness completely vanished, +and she drove down to the hall composedly as though she were about to +appear at her fiftieth concert rather than at her first. Olga +Lermontof regarded her with some anxiety. She would have preferred her +to show a little natural nervous excitement beforehand; there would be +less danger of a sudden attack of stage-fright at the last moment. + +Baroni was in the artistes' room when they arrived, outwardly cool, but +inwardly seething with mingled pride and excitement and vicarious +apprehension. He hurried forward to greet them, shaking Diana by both +hands and then leading her up to the great French pianist, Madame +Berthe Louvigny. + +The latter was a tall, grave-looking woman, with a pair of the most +lustrous brown eyes Diana had ever seen. They seemed to glow with a +kind of inward fire under the wide brow revealed beneath the sweep of +her dark hair. + +"So thees ees your wonder-pupil, Signor," she said, her smile radiating +kindness and good-humour. "Mademoiselle, I weesh you all the success +that I know Signor Baroni hopes for you." + +She talked very rapidly, with a strong foreign accent, and her gesture +was so expressive that one felt it was almost superfluous to add speech +to the quick, controlled movement. Hands, face, shoulders--she seemed +to speak with her whole body, yet without conveying any impression of +restlessness. There was not a single meaningless movement; each added +point to the rapid flow of speech, throwing it into vivid relief like +the shading of a picture. + +While she was still chatting to Diana, a slender man with bright hair +tossed back over a finely shaped head came into the artistes' room, +carrying in his hand a violin-case which he deposited on the table with +as much care as though it were a baby. He shook hands with Olga +Lermontof, and then Baroni swept him into his net. + +"Kirolski, let me present you to Miss Quentin. She will one day stand +amongst singers where you stand amongst the world's violinists." + +Kirolski bowed, and glanced smilingly from Baroni to Diana. + +"I've no doubt Miss Quentin will do more than that," he said. "A +friend of mine heard her sing at Miss de Gervais' reception not long +ago, and he has talked of nothing else ever since. I am very pleased +to meet you, Miss Quentin." And he bowed again. + +Diana was touched by the simple, unaffected kindness of the two great +artistes who were to assist at her recital. It surprised her a little; +she had anticipated the disparaging, almost inimical attitude towards a +new star so frequently credited to professional musicians, and had +steeled herself to meet it with indifference. She forgot that when you +are at the top of the tree there is little cause for envy or +heart-burning, and graciousness becomes an easy habit. It is in the +struggle to reach the top that the ugly passions leap into life. + +Presently there came sounds of clapping from the body of the hall; some +of the audience were growing impatient, and the news that there was a +packed house filtered into the artistes' room. Almost as in a dream +Diana watched Kirolski lift his violin from its cushiony bed and run +his fingers lightly over the strings in a swift arpeggio. Then he +tightened his bow and rubbed the resin along its length of hair, while +Olga Lermontof looked through a little pile of music for the duet for +violin and piano with which the recital was to commence. + +The outbreaks of clapping from in front grew more persistent, +culminating in a veritable roar of welcome as Kirolski led the pianist +on to the platform. Then came a breathless, expectant silence, broken +at last by the stately melody of the first movement. + +To Diana it seemed as though the duet were very quickly over, and +although the applause and recalls were persistent, no encore was given. +Then she saw Olga Lermontof mounting the platform steps preparatory to +accompanying Kirolski's solo, and with a sudden violent reaction from +her calm composure she realised that the following item on the +programme must be the first group of her own songs. + +For an instant the room swayed round her, then with a little gasp she +clutched Baroni's arm. + +"I can't do it! . . . I can't do it!" Her voice was shaking, and +every drop of colour had drained away from her face. + +Baroni turned instantly, his eyes full of concern. + +"My dear, but that is nonsense. You _cannot help_ doing it--you know +those songs inside out and upside down. You need haf no fear. Do not +think about it at all. Trust your voice--it will sing what it knows." + +But Diana still clung helplessly to his arm, shivering from head to +foot, and Madame de Louvigny hurried across the room and joined her +assurances to those of the old _maestro_. She also added a +liqueur-glass of brandy to her soothing, encouraging little speeches, +but Diana refused the former with a gesture of repugnance, and seemed +scarcely to hear the latter. She was dazed by sheer nervous terror, +and stood there with her hands tightly clasped together, her body rigid +and taut with misery. + +Baroni was nearly demented. If she should fail to regain her nerve the +whole concert would he a disastrous fiasco. Possible headlines from +the morrow's newspapers danced before his eyes: "NERVOUS COLLAPSE OF +MISS DIANA QUENTIN," "SIGNOR BARONI'S NEW PRIMA DONNA FAILS TO +MATERIALISE." + +"_Diavolo_!" he exclaimed distractedly. "But what shall we do? What +shall we do?" + +"What is the matter?" + +At the sound of the cool, level tones the little agitated group of +three in the artistes' room broke asunder, and Baroni hurried towards +the newcomer. + +"Mr. Errington, we are in despair--" And with a gesture towards +Diana he briefly explained the predicament. + +Max nodded, his keen eyes considering the shrinking figure leaning +against the wall. + +"Don't worry, Baroni," he said quietly. "I'll pull her round." Then, +as a burst of applause crashed out from the hall, he whispered hastily: +"Get Kirolski to give an encore. It will allow her a little more time." + +Baroni nodded, and a minute or two later the audience was cheering the +violinist's reappearance, whilst Errington strode across the room to +Diana's side. + +"How d'you do?" he said, holding out his hand exactly as though nothing +in the world were the matter. "I thought you'd allow me to come round +and wish you luck, so here I am." + +He spoke in such perfectly normal, everyday tones that unconsciously +Diana's rigid muscles relaxed, and she extended her hand in response. + +"I'm feeling sick with fright," she replied, giving him a wavering +smile. + +Max laughed easily. + +"Of course. Otherwise you wouldn't be the artiste that you are. But +it will all go the moment you're on the platform." + +She looked up at him with a faint hope in her eyes. + +"Do you really think so?" she whispered. + +"I'm sure. It always does," he lied cheerfully. "I'll tell you who is +far more nervous than you are, and that's the Rector. Miss Stair and +Jerry were almost forcibly holding him down in his seat when I left +them. He's disposed to bolt out of the hall and await results at the +hotel." + +Diana laughed outright. + +"How like him! Poor Pobs!" + +"You'd better give him a special smile when you get on the platform to +reassure him," continued Max, his blue eyes smiling down at her. + +The violin solo had drawn to a close--Kirolski had already returned a +third time to bow his acknowledgments--and Errington was relieved to +see that the look of strain had gone out of her face, although she +still appeared rather pale and shaken. + +One or two friends of the violinist's were coming in at the door of the +artistes' room as Olga Lermontof preceded him down the platform steps. +There was a little confusion, the sound of a fall, and simultaneously +some one inadvertently pushed the door to. The next minute the +accompanist was the centre of a small crowd of anxious, questioning +people. She had tripped and stumbled to her knees on the threshold of +the room, and, as she instinctively stretched out her hand to save +herself, the door had swung hack trapping two of her fingers in the +hinge. + +A hubbub of dismay arose. Olga was white with pain, and her hand was +so badly squeezed and bruised that it was quite obvious she would be +unable to play any more that day. + +"I'm so sorry, Miss Quentin," she murmured faintly. + +In her distress about the accident, Diana had for the moment overlooked +the fact that it would affect her personally, but now, as Olga's words +reminded her that the accompanist on whom she placed such utter +reliance would be forced to cede her place to a substitute, her former +nervousness returned with redoubled force. It began to look as though +she would really be unable to appear, and Baroni wrung his hands in +despair. + +It was a moment for speedy action. The audience were breaking into +impatient clapping, and from the back of the hall came an undertone of +stamping, and the sound of umbrellas banging on the floor. Errington +turned swiftly to Diana. + +"Will you trust me with the accompaniments?" he said, his blue eyes +fixed on hers. + +"You?" she faltered. + +"Yes. I swear I won't fail you." His voice dropped to a lower note, +but his dominating eyes still held her. "See, you offered me your +friendship. Trust me now. Let me 'stand by,' as a friend should." + +There was an instant's pause, then suddenly Diana bent her head in +acquiescence. + +"Thank heaven! thank heaven!" exclaimed Baroni, wringing Max's hand. +"You haf saved the situation, Mr. Errington." + +A minute later Diana found herself mounting the platform steps, her +hand in Max's. His close, firm clasp steadied and reassured her. +Again she was aware of that curious sense of well-being, as of leaning +on some sure, unfailing strength, which the touch of his hand had +before inspired. + +As he led her on to the platform she met his eyes, full of a kind +good-comradeship and confidence. + +"All right?" he whispered cheerfully. + +A little comforting warmth crept about her heart. She was not alone, +facing all those hundreds of curious, critical eyes in the hall below; +there was a friend "standing by." + +She nodded to him reassuringly, suddenly conscious of complete +self-mastery. She no longer feared those ranks of upturned faces, row +upon row, receding into shadow at the further end of the hall, and she +bowed composedly in response to the applause that greeted her. Then +she heard Max strike the opening chord of the song, and a minute later +the big concert-hall was thrilling to the matchless beauty of her +voice, as it floated out on to the waiting stillness. + +The five songs of the group followed each other in quick succession, +the clapping that broke out between each of them only checking so that +the next one might be heard, but when the final number had been given, +and the last note had drifted tenderly away into silence, the vast +audience rose to its feet almost as one man, shouting and clapping and +waving in a tumultuous outburst of enthusiasm. + +Diana stood quite still, almost frightened by the uproar, until Max +touched her arm and escorted her off the platform. + +In the artistes' room every one crowded round her pouring out +congratulations. Baroni seized both her hands and kissed them; then he +kissed her cheek, the tears in his eyes. And all the time came the +thunder of applause from the auditorium, beating up in steady, rhythmic +waves of sound. + +"Go!--Go back, my child, and bow." Baroni impelled her gently towards +the door. "_Gran Dio_! What a success! . . . What a voice of heaven!" + +Rather nervously, Diana mounted the platform once more, stepping +forward a little shyly; her cheeks were flushed, and her wonderful eyes +shone like grey stars. A fillet of pale green leaves bound her +smoke-black hair, and the slender, girlish figure in its sea-green +gown, touched here and there with gold embroidery, reminded one of +spring, and the young green and gold of daffodils. + +Instantly the applause redoubled. People were surging forward towards +the platform, pressing round an unfortunate usher who was endeavouring +to hand up a sheaf of roses to the singer. Diana bowed, and bowed +again. Then she stooped and accepted the roses, and a fresh burst of +clapping ensued. A wreath of laurel, and a huge bunch of white +heather, for luck, followed the sheaf of roses, and finally, her arms +full of flowers, smiling, bowing still, she escaped from the platform. + +Back again in the artistes' room, she found that a number of her +friends in front had come round to offer their congratulations. Alan +Stair and Joan, Jerry, and Adrienne de Gervais were amongst them, and +Diana at once became the centre of a little excited throng, all +laughing and talking and shaking her by the hand. Every one seemed to +be speaking at once, and behind it all still rose and fell the +cannonade of shouts and clapping from the hall. + +Four times Diana returned to the platform to acknowledge the tremendous +ovation which her singing had called forth, and at length, since Baroni +forbade an encore until after her second group of songs, Madame de +Louvigny went on to give her solo. + +"They weel not want to hear me--after you, Mees Quentin," she said +laughingly. + +But the British public is always very faithful to its favourites, and +the audience, realising at last that the new singer was not going to +bestow an encore, promptly exerted itself to welcome the French pianist +in a befitting manner. + +When Diana reappeared for her second group of song's the excitement was +intense. Whilst she was singing a pin could have been heard to fall; +it almost seemed as though the huge concourse of people held its breath +so that not a single note of the wonderful voice should be missed, and +when she ceased there fell a silence--that brief silence, like a sigh +of ecstasy, which, is the greatest tribute that any artiste can receive. + +Then, with a crash like thunder, the applause broke out once more, and +presently, reappearing with the sheaf of roses in her hand, Diana sang +"The Haven of Memory" as an encore. + + + Let me remember, + When I am very lonely, + How once your love + But crowned and blessed roe only, + Long and long ago. + + +The plaintive rhythm died away and the clapping which succeeded it was +quieter, less boisterous, than hitherto. Some people were crying +openly, and many surreptitiously wiped away a tear or so in the +intervals of applauding. The audience was shaken by the tender, +sorrowful emotion of the song, its big, sentimental British heart +throbbing to the haunting quality of the most beautiful voice in Europe. + +Diana herself had tears in her eyes. She was experiencing for the +first time the passionate exultation born of the knowledge that she +could sway the hearts of a multitude by the sheer beauty of her +singing--an abiding recompense bestowed for all the sacrifices which +art demands from those who learn her secrets. + +Her fingers, gripping with unconscious intensity the flowers she held, +detached a white rose from the sheaf, and it had barely time to reach +the floor before a young man from the audience, eager-eyed, his face +pale with excitement, sprang forward and snatched it up from beneath +her feet. + +In an instant there was an uproar. Men and women lost their heads and +clambered up on to the platform, pressing round the singer, besieging +her for a spray of leaves or a flower from the sheaf she carried. Some +even tried to secure a bit of the gold embroidery from off her gown by +way of memento. + +"Oh, please . . . please . . ." + +A crowd that is overwrought, either by anger or enthusiasm, is a +difficult thing to handle, and Diana retreated desperately, frightened +by the storm she had evoked. One man was kneeling beside her, +rapturously kissing the hem of her gown, and the eager, excited faces, +the outstretched hands, the vision of the surging throng below, and the +tumult and clamour that filled the concert-hall terrified her. + +Suddenly a strong arm intervened between her and the group of +enthusiasts who were flocking round her, and she found that she was +being quietly drawn aside into safety. Max Errington's tall form had +interposed itself between her and her too eager worshippers. With a +little gasp of relief she let him lead her down the steps of the +platform and back into the comparative calm of the artistes' room, +while two of the ushers hurried forward and dispersed the +memento-seekers, shepherding them back into the hall below, so that the +concert might continue. + +The latter part of the programme was heard with attention, but not even +the final _duo_ for violin and piano, exquisite though it was, +succeeded in rousing the audience to a normal pitch of fervour again. +Emotion and enthusiasm were alike exhausted, and now that Diana's share +in the recital was over, the big assemblage of people listened to the +remaining numbers much as a child, tired with play, may listen to a +lullaby--placidly appreciative, but without overwhelming excitement. + +"Well, what did I tell you?" demanded Jerry, triumphantly, of the +little party of friends who gathered together for tea in Diana's +sitting-room, when at length the great event of the afternoon was over. +"What did I tell you? . . . I said Diana would just romp past the +post--all the others nowhere. And behold! It came to pass." + +"It's a good thing Madame Louvigny and Kirolski can't hear you," +observed Joan sagely. "They've probably got quite nice natures, but +you'd strain the forbearance of an early Christian martyr, Jerry. +Besides, you needn't be so fulsome to Diana; it isn't good for her." + +Jerry retorted with spirit, and the two drifted into a pleasant little +wrangle--the kind of sparring match by which youths and maidens +frequently endeavour to convince themselves, and the world at large, of +the purely Platonic nature of their sentiments. + +Bunty, who had rejoiced in her promised seat in the front row at the +concert, was hurrying to and fro, a maid-servant in attendance, +bringing in tea, while Mrs. Lawrence, who had also been the recipient +of a complimentary ticket, looked in for a few minutes to felicitate +the heroine of the day. + +She mentally patted herself on the back for the discernment she had +evinced in making certain relaxations of her stringent rules in favour +of this particular boarder. It was quite evident that before long Miss +Quentin would be distinctly a "personage," shedding a delectable +effulgence upon her immediate surroundings, and Mrs. Lawrence was +firmly decided that, if any effort of hers could compass it, those +surroundings should continue to be No. 34 Brutton Square. + +Diana herself looked tired but irrepressibly happy. Now that it was +all over, and success assured, she realised how intensely she had +dreaded the ordeal of this first recital. + +Olga Lermontof, her injured hand resting in a sling, chaffed her with +some amusement. + +"I suppose, at last, you're beginning to understand that your voice is +really something out of the ordinary," she said. "Its effect on the +audience this afternoon is a better criterion than all the notices in +to-morrow's newspapers put together." + +Diana laughed. + +"Well, I hope it won't make a habit of producing that effect!" she +said, pulling a little face of disgust at the recollection. "I don't +know what would have happened if Mr. Errington hadn't come to my +rescue." + +Max smiled across at her. + +"You'd have been torn to bits and the pieces distributed amongst the +audience--like souvenir programmes--I imagine," he replied. Then, +turning towards the accompanist, he continued: "How does your hand feel +now, Miss Lermontof?" + +There was a curious change in his voice as he addressed the Russian, +and Diana, glancing quickly towards her, surprised a strangely wistful +look in her eyes as they rested upon Errington's face. + +"Oh, it is much better. I shall be able to play again in a few days. +But it was fortunate you were at the concert to-day, and able to take +my place." + +"So you approve of me--for once?" he queried, with a rather twisted +little smile. + +Olga remained silent for a moment, her eyes searching his face. Then +she said very deliberately:-- + +"I am glad you were able to play for Miss Quentin." + +"But you won't commit yourself so far as to say that I have your +approval--even once?" + +Miss Lermontof leaned forward impetuously. + +"How can I?" she said, in hurried tones, "It's all wrong--oh! you know +that it's all wrong." + +Errington shrugged his shoulders. + +"I'm afraid we can never see eye to eye," he answered. "Let us, then, +be philosophical over the matter and agree to differ." + +Olga's green eyes flamed with sudden anger, but she abstained from +making any reply, turning away from him abruptly. + +Diana, whose attention had been claimed by the Rector, had not caught +the quickly spoken sentences which had passed between the two, but she +was puzzled over the oddly yearning look she had surprised in Olga's +eyes. There had been a tenderness, a species of wistful longing in her +gaze, as she had turned towards Max Errington, which tallied ill with +the bitter incisiveness of the remarks she let fall at times concerning +him. + +"Well, my dear"--the Rector's voice recalled Diana's wandering +thoughts--"Joan and I must be getting back to our hotel, if we are to +be dressed in time for the dinner Miss de Gervais is giving in your +honour to-night." + +Diana glanced at the clock and nodded. + +"Indeed you must, Pobs darling. And I will send away these other good +people too. As we're all going to meet again at dinner we can bear to +be separated for an hour or so--even Jerry and Joan, I suppose?" she +added whimsically, in a lower tone. + +"It's invidious to mention names," murmured Stair, "or I might--" + +Diana laid her hand lightly across his mouth. + +"No, you mightn't," she said firmly. "Put on your coat and that nice +squashy hat of yours, and trot back to your hotel like a good Pobs." + +Stair laughed, looking down at her with kind eyes. + +"Very well, little autocrat." He put his hand under her chin and +tilted her face up. "I've not congratulated you yet, my dear. It's a +big thing you've done--captured London in a day. But it's a bigger +thing you'll have to do." + +"You mean Paris--Vienna?" + +He shook his head, still with the kind smile in his eyes. + +"No. I mean, keep me the little Diana I love--don't let me lose her in +the public singer." + +"Oh, Pobs!"--reproachfully. "As though I should ever change!" + +"Not deliberately--not willingly, I'm sure. But--success is a +difficult sea to swim." + +He sighed, kissed her upturned face, and then, with twist of his +shoulders, pulled on his overcoat and prepared to depart. + +Success is exhilarating. It goes to the head like wine, and yet, as +Diana lay in bed that night, staring with wide eyes into the darkness, +the memory that stood out in vivid relief from amongst the crowded +events of the day was not the triumph of the afternoon, nor the merry +evening which succeeded it, when "the coming _prima donna_" had been +toasted amid a fusillade of brilliant little speeches and light-hearted +laughter, but the remembrance of a pair of passionate, demanding blue +eyes and of a low, tense voice saying:-- + +"I swear I won't fail you. Let me 'stand by.'" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE FLAME OF LOVE + +Diana's gaze wandered idly over the blue stretch of water, as it lay +beneath the blazing August sun, while the sea-gulls, like streaks of +white light, wheeled through the shimmering haze of the atmosphere. +Her hands were loosely clasped around her knees, and a little +evanescent smile played about her lips. Behind her, the great red +cliffs of Culver Point reared up against the sapphire of the sky, and +she was thinking dreamily of that day, nearly eighteen months ago, when +she had been sitting in the self-same place, leaning against the +self-same rock, whilst a grey waste of water crept hungrily up to her +very feet, threatening to claim her as its prey. And then Errington +had come, and straightway all the danger was passed. + +Looking back, it seemed as though that had always been the way of +things. Some menace had arisen, either by land or sea--or even, as at +her recital, out of the very intensity of feeling which her singing had +inspired--and immediately Max had intervened and the danger had been +averted. + +She laid her hand caressingly on the sun-warmed surface of the rock. +How many things had happened since she had last leaned against its +uncomfortable excrescences! She felt quite affectionately towards it, +as one who has journeyed far may feel towards some old landmark of his +youth which he finds unaltered on his return, from wandering in strange +lands. The immutability of _things_, as compared with the constant +fluctuation of life and circumstance, struck her poignantly. Here was +this rock--cast up from the bowels of the earth thousands of years ago +and washed by the waves of a million tides--still unchanged and +changeless, while, for her, the face of the whole world had altered in +little more than a year! + +From a young girl-student, one insignificant person among scores of +others similarly insignificant, she had become a prominent personality, +some one in whom even the great, busy, hurrying world paused to take an +interest, and of whom the newspapers wrote eulogistic notices, +heralding her as the coming English _prima donna_. She felt rather +like a mole which has been working quietly in the dark, tunnelling a +passage for itself, unseen and unsuspected, and which has suddenly +emerged above the surface of the earth, much to its own--and every one +else's--astonishment! + +Then, too, how utterly changed were her relations with Max Errington! +At the beginning of their acquaintance he had held himself deliberately +aloof, but since that evening at Adrienne de Gervais' house, when they +had formed a compact of friendship, he had, apparently, completely +blotted out from his mind the remembrance of the obstacle, whatever it +might be, which he had contended must render any friendship between +them out of the question. + +And during these last few months Diana had gradually come to know the +lofty strain of idealism which ran through the man's whole nature. +Passionate, obstinate, unyielding--he could be each and all in turn, +but, side by side with these exterior characteristics, there ran a +streak of almost feminine delicacy of perception and ideality of +purpose. Diana had once told him, laughingly, that he was of the stuff +of which martyrs were made in the old days of persecution, and in this +she had haphazard lit upon the fundamental force that shaped his +actions. The burden which fate, or his own deeds, might lay upon his +shoulders, that he would bear, be it what it might. + +"Everything's got to be paid for," he had said one day. "It's +inevitable. So what's the use of jibing at the price?" + +Diana wondered whether the price of that mysterious something which lay +in his past, and which not even intimate friendship had revealed to +her, would mean that this comradeship must always remain only that--and +never anything more? + +A warm flush mounted to her face as the unbidden thought crept into her +mind. Errington had been down at Crailing most of the summer, staying +at Red Gables, and during the long, lazy days they had spent together, +motoring, or sailing, or tramping over Dartmoor with the keen moorland +air, like sparkling wine, in their nostrils, it seemed as though a +deeper note had sounded than merely that of friendship. + +And yet he had said nothing, although his eyes had spoken--those vivid +blue eyes which sometimes blazed with a white heat of smouldering +passion that set her heart racing madly within her. + +She flinched shyly away from her own thoughts, pulling restlessly at +the dried weed which clung about the surface of the rock. A little +brown crab ran out from a crevice, and, terrified by the big human hand +which he espied meddling with the clump of weed and threatening to +interfere with the liberty of the subject, skedaddled sideways into the +safety of another cranny. + +The hurried rush of the little live thing roused Diana from her +day-dreams, and looking up, she saw Max coming to her across the sands. + +She watched the proud, free gait of the tall figure with appreciation +in her eyes. There was something very individual and characteristic +about Max's walk--a suggestion as of immense vitality held in check, +together with a certain air of haughty resolution and command. + +"I thought I might find you here," he said, when they had shaken hands. + +"Did you want me?" + +He looked at her with a curious expression in his eyes. + +"I always want you, I think," he said simply. + +"Well, you seem to have a faculty for always turning up when _I_ want +_you_," she replied. "I was just thinking how often you had appeared +in the very nick of time. Seriously"--her voice took on a graver +note--"I feel I can't ever repay you.--you've come to my help so often." + +"There is a way," he said, very low, and then fell silent. + +"Tell me," she urged him, smilingly. "I like to pay my debts." + +He made no answer, and Diana, suddenly nervous and puzzled, continued a +little breathlessly:-- + +"Have I--have I offended you? I--I thought"--her lips quivered--"we +had agreed to be friends." + +Max was silent a moment. Then he said slowly:-- + +"I can't keep that compact." + +Diana's heart contracted with a sudden fear. + +"Can't keep it?" she repeated dully. She could not picture her +life--no--robbed of this friendship! + +"No." His hands hung clenched at his sides, and he stood staring at +her from beneath bent brows, his mouth set in a straight line. It was +as though he were holding himself under a rigid restraint, against +which something within him battled, striving for release. + +All at once his control snapped. + +"I love you! . . . God in heaven! Haven't you guessed it?" + +The words broke from him like a bitter cry--the cry of a heart torn in +twain by love and thwarted longing. Diana felt the urgency of its +demand thrill through her whole being. + +"Max . . ." + +It was the merest whisper, reaching his ears like the touch of a +butterfly's wing--hesitantly shy, and honey-sweet with the promise of +summer. + +The next instant his arms were round her and he was holding her as +though he would never let her go, passionately kissing the soft mouth, +so close beneath his own. He lifted her off her feet, crushing her to +him, and Diana, the woman in her definitely, vividly aroused at last, +clung to him yielding, but half-terrified by the tempest of emotion she +had waked. + +"My beloved! . . . _My soul_!" + +His voice was vehement with the love and passion at length unleashed +from bondage; his kisses hurt her. There was something torrential, +overwhelming, in his imperious wooing. He held her with the fierce, +possessive grip of primitive man claiming the chosen woman as his mate. + +She struggled faintly against him. + +"Ah! Max--Max . . . . Let me go. You're frightening me." + +She heard him draw his breath hard, and then slowly, reluctantly, as +though by a sheer effort of will, he set her down. He was white to the +lips, and his eyes glowed like blue flame in their pallid setting. + +"Frighten you!" he repeated hoarsely. "You don't know what love +means--you English." + +Diana stared at him. + +"'You English!' What--what are you saying? Max, aren't you English +after all?" + +He threw back his head with a laugh. + +"Oh, yes, I'm English. But I'm something else as well. . . . There's +warmer blood in my veins, and I can't love like an Englishman. Oh, +Diana, heart's beloved, let me teach you what love is!" + +Impetuously he caught her in his arms again, and once more she felt the +storm of his passion sweep over her as he rained fierce kisses on eyes +and throat and lips. For a space it seemed as if the whole world were +blotted out and there were only they two alone together--shaken to the +very foundations of their being by the tremendous force of the +whirlwind of love which had engulfed them. + +When at length he released her, all her reserves were down. + +"Max . . . Max . . . I love you!" + +The confession fell from her lips with a timid, exquisite abandon. He +was her mate and she recognised it. He had conquered her. + + +Presently he put her from him, very gently, but decisively. + +"Diana, heart's dearest, there is something more--something I have not +told you yet." + +She looked at him with sudden apprehension in her eyes. + +"Max! . . . Nothing--nothing that need come between us?" + +Memories of the past, of all the incomprehensible episodes of their +acquaintance--his refusal to recognise her, his reluctance to accept +her friendship--came crowding in upon her, threatening the destruction +of her new-found happiness. + +"Not if you can be strong--not if you'll trust me." He looked at her +searchingly. + +"Trust you? But I do trust you. Should I have . . . Oh, Max!" the +warm colour dyed her face from chin to brow--"Could I love you if I +didn't trust you?" + +There was a tender, almost compassionate expression in his eyes as he +answered, rather sadly:-- + +"Ah, my dear, we don't know what 'trust' really means until we are +called upon to give it. . . . And I want so much from you!" + +Diana slipped her hand confidently into his. + +"Tell me," she said, smiling at him. "I don't think I shall fail you." + +He was silent for a while, wondering if the next words he spoke would +set them as far apart as though the previous hour had never been. At +last he spoke. + +"Do you believe that husbands and wives should have no secrets from one +another?" he asked abruptly. + +Diana had never really given the matter consideration--never formulated +such a question in her mind. But now, in the light of love's +awakening; she instinctively knew the answer to it. Her opinion leaped +into life fully formed; she was aware, without the shadow of a doubt, +of her own feelings on the subject. + +"Certainly they shouldn't," she answered promptly. "Why, Max, that +would be breaking the very link that binds them together--their +_oneness_ each with the other. You think that, too, don't you? +Why--why did you ask me?" A premonition of evil assailed her, and her +voice trembled a little. + +"I asked you because--because if you marry me you will have to face the +fact that there is a secret in my life which I cannot share with +you--something I can't tell you about." Then, as he saw the blank look +on her face, he went on rapidly: "It will be the only thing, beloved. +There shall be nothing else in life that will not be 'ours,' between +us, shared by us both. I swear it! . . . Diana, I must make you +understand. It was because of this--this secret--that I kept away from +you. You couldn't understand--oh! I saw it in your face sometimes. +You were hurt by what I did and said, and it tortured me to hurt +you--to see your lip quiver, your eyes suddenly grow misty, and to know +it was I who had wounded you, I, who would give the last drop of blood +in my body to save you pain." + +There was a curious stricken expression on the face Diana turned +towards him. + +"So that was it!" + +"Yes, that was it. I tried to put you out of my life, for I'd no right +to ask you into it. And I've failed! I can't do without you"--his +voice gathered intensity--"I want you--body and soul I want you. And +yet--a secret between husband and wife is a burden no man should ask a +woman to bear." + +When next Diana spoke it was in a curiously cold, collected voice. She +felt stunned. A great wall seemed to be rising up betwixt herself and +Max; all her golden visions for the future were falling about her in +ruins. + +"You are right," she said slowly. "No man should ask--that--of his +wife." + +Errington's face twisted with pain. + +"I never meant to let you know I cared," he answered. "I fought down +my love for you just because of that. And then--it grew too strong for +me. . . . My God! If you knew what it's been like--to be near you, +with you, constantly, and yet to feel that you were as far removed from +me as the sun itself. Diana--beloved--can't you trust me over this one +thing? Isn't your love strong enough for that?" + +She turned on him passionately. + +"Oh, you are unfair to me--cruelly unfair! You ask me to trust you! +And your very asking implies that you cannot trust _me_!" + +There was bitter anger in her voice. + +"I know it looks like that," he said wearily. "And I can't explain. I +can only ask you to believe in me and trust me. I thought . . . +perhaps . . . you loved me enough to do it." His mouth twitched with a +little smile, half sad, half ironical. "My usual presumption, I +suppose." + +She made no answer, but after a moment asked abruptly:-- + +"Does this--this secret concern only you?" + +"That I cannot tell you. I can't answer any questions. If--if you +come to me, it must be in absolute blind trust." He paused, his eyes +entreating her. "Is it . . . too much to ask?" + +Diana was silent, looking away from him across the water. The sun +slipped behind a cloud, and a grey shadow spread like a blight over the +summer sea. It lay leaden and dull, tufted with little white crests of +foam. + +The man and woman stood side by side, motionless, unresponsive. It was +as though a sword had suddenly descended, cleaving them asunder. + +Presently she heard him mutter in a low tone of anguish:-- + +"So this--this, too--must be added to the price!" + +The pain in his voice pulled at her heart. She stretched out her hands +towards him. + +"Max! Give me time!" + +He wheeled round, and the tense look of misery in his face hurt her +almost physically. + +"What do you mean?" he asked hoarsely. + +"I must have time to think. Husband and wife ought to be one. +What--what happiness can there be if . . . if we marry . . . like this?" + +He bent his head. + +"None--unless you can have faith. There can be no happiness for us +without that." + +He took a sudden step towards her. + +"Oh, my dear, my dear! I love you so!" + +Diana began to cry softly--helpless, pathetic, weeping, like a child's. + +"And--and I thought we were so happy," she sobbed. "Now it's all +spoiled and broken. And you've spoilt it!" + +"Don't!" he said unsteadily. "Don't cry like that. I can't stand it." + +He made an instinctive movement to take her in his arms, but she +slipped aside, turning on him in sudden, passionate reproach. + +"Why did you try and make me love you when you knew . . . all this? I +was quite happy before you came--oh, so happy!"--with a sudden yearning +recollection of the days of unawakened girlhood. "If--if you had let +me alone, I should have been happy still." + +The unthinking selfishness of youth rang in her voice, asserting its +infinite demand for the joy and pleasure of life. + +"And I?" he said, very low. "Does my unhappiness count for nothing? +I'm paying too. God knows, I wish we had never met." + +Never to have met! Not to have known all that those months of +friendship and a single hour of love had held! The words brought a +sudden awakening to Diana--a new, wonderful knowledge that, cost what +they might in bitterness and future pain, she would rather bear the +cost than know her life emptied of those memories. + +She had ceased crying. After a few moments she spoke with a gentle, +wistful composure. + +"I was wrong, Max. You're not to blame--you couldn't help it any more +than I could." + +"I might have gone away--kept away from you," he said tonelessly. + +A faint, wintry little smile curved her lips. + +"I'm glad you didn't." + +"Diana!" He sprang forward impetuously. "Do you mean that?" + +She nodded slowly. + +"Yes. Even if--if we can't ever marry, we've had . . . to-day." + +A smouldering fire lit itself in the man's blue eyes. He had spoken +but the bare truth when he had said that warmer blood ran in his veins +than that of the cold northern peoples. + +"Yes," he said, his voice tense. "We've had to-day." + +Diana trembled a little. The memory of that fierce, wild love-making +of his rushed over her once more, and the primitive woman in her longed +to yield to its mastery. But the cooler characteristics of her nature +bade her pause and weigh the full significance of marrying a man whose +life was tinged with mystery, and who frankly acknowledged that he bore +a secret which must remain hidden, even from his wife. + +It would be taking a leap in the dark, and Diana shrank from it. + +"I must have time to think," she repeated. "I can't decide to-day." + +"No," he said, "you're right. I've known that all the time, +only--only"--his voice shook--"the touch of you, the nearness of you, +blinded me." He paused. "Don't keep me waiting for your answer longer +than you can help, Diana," he added, with a quiet intensity. + +"You'll go away from Crailing?" she asked nervously. + +He smiled a little sadly. + +"Yes, I'll go away. I'll leave you quite free to make your decision," +he replied. + +She breathed a sigh of relief. She knew that if he were to remain at +Crailing, if they were to continue seeing each other almost daily, +there could be but one end to the matter--her conviction that no +happiness could result from such a marriage would go by the board. It +could not stand against the breathless impetuosity of Max's +love-making--not when her own heart was eager and aching to respond. + +"Thank you, Max," she said simply, extending her hand. + +He put it aside, drawing her into his embrace. + +"Beloved," he said, and now there was no passion, no fierceness of +desire in his voice, only unutterable tenderness. "Beloved, please God +you will find it in your heart to be good to me. All my thoughts are +yours, but for that one thing over which I need your faith. . . . I +think no man ever loved a woman so utterly as I love you. And oh! +little white English rose of my heart, I'd never ask more than you +could give. Love isn't all passion. It's tenderness and shielding and +service, dear, as well as fire and flame. A man loves his wife in all +the little ways of daily life as well as in the big ways of eternity." + +He stooped his head, and a shaft of sunlight flickered across his +bright hair. Diana watched it with a curious sense of detachment. +Very gently he laid her hands against his lips, and the next moment he +was swinging away from her across the stretch of yellow sand, leaving +her alone once more with the sea and the sky and the wheeling gulls. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +DIANA'S DECISION + +Max had been gone a week--a week of distress and miserable indecision +for Diana, racked as she was between her love and her conviction that +marriage under the only circumstances possible would inevitably bring +unhappiness. Over and above this fear there was the instinctive recoil +she felt from Errington's demand for such blind faith. Her pride +rebelled against it. If he loved her and had confidence in her, why +couldn't he trust her with his secret? It was treating her like a +child, and it would be wrong--all wrong--she argued, to begin their +married life with concealment and secrecy for its foundation. + +One morning she even wrote to him, telling him definitely either that +he must trust her altogether, or that they must part irrevocably. But +the letter was torn up the same afternoon, and Diana went to bed that +night with her decision still untaken. + +For several nights she had slept but little, and once again she passed +long hours tossing feverishly from side to side of the bed or pacing up +and down her room, love and pride fighting a stubborn battle within +her. Had Max remained at Crailing, love would have gained an easy +victory, but, true to his promise, he had gone away, leaving her to +make her decision free and untrammelled by his influence. + +Diana's face was beginning to show signs of the mental struggle through +which she was passing. Dark shadows lay beneath her eyes, and her +cheeks, even in so short a time, had hollowed a little. She was +irritable, too, and unlike herself, and at last Stair, whose watchful +eyes had noted all these things, though he had refrained from comment, +taxed her with keeping him outside her confidence. + +"Can't I help, Di?" he asked, laying his hand on her shoulder, and +twisting her round so that she faced him. + +The quick colour flew into her cheeks. For a moment she hesitated, +while Stair, releasing his hold of her, dropped into a chair and busied +himself filling and lighting his pipe. + +"Well?" he queried at last, smiling whimsically. "Won't you give me an +old friend's right to ask impertinent questions?" + +Impulsively she yielded. + +"You needn't, Pobs. I'll tell you all about it." + +When she had finished, a long silence ensued. Not that Stair was in +any doubt as to what form his advice should take--idealist that he was, +there did not seem to him to be any question in the matter. He only +hesitated as to how he could best word his counsel. + +At last he spoke, very gently, his eyes lit with that inner radiance +which gave such an arresting charm of expression to his face. + +"My dear," he said, "it seems to me that if you love him you needs +_must_ trust him. 'Perfect love casteth out fear.'" + +Diana shook her head. + +"Mightn't you reverse that, Pobs, and say that he would trust _me_--if +he loves me?" + +"No, not necessarily." Alan sucked at his pipe. "He knows what his +secret is, and whether it is right or wrong for you to share it. You +haven't that knowledge. And that's where your trust must come in. You +have to believe in him enough to leave it to him to decide whether you +ought to be told or not. Have you no confidence in his judgment?" + +"I don't think husbands and wives should have secrets from one +another," protested Diana obstinately. + +"Does he propose to have any other than this one?" + +"No." + +"Then I don't see that you need complain. The present and the future +are yours, but you've no right to demand the past as well. And this +secret, whatever it may be, belongs to the past." + +"As far as I can see it will be cropping up in the future as well," +said Diana ruefully. "It seems to be a 'continued in our next' kind of +mystery." + +Stair laughed boyishly. + +"It should add a zest to life if that's the case," he retorted. + +Diana was silent a moment. Then she said suddenly:-- + +"Pobs, what am I to do?" + +Instantly Stair became grave again. + +"My dear, do you love him?" + +Diana nodded, her eyes replying. + +"Then nothing else matters a straw. If you love him enough to trust +him with the whole of the rest of your life, you can surely trust him +over a twopenny-halfpenny little secret which, after all, has nothing +in the world to do with you. If you can't, do you know what it looks +like?" + +She regarded him questioningly. + +"It looks as though you suspected the secret of being a disgraceful +one--something of which Max is ashamed to tell you. Do +you"--sharply--"think that?" + +"Of course I don't!" she burst out indignantly. + +"Then why trouble? Possibly the matter concerns some one else besides +himself, and he may not be at liberty to tell you anything--he might +have a dozen different reasons for keeping his own counsel. And the +woman who loves him and is ready to be his wife is the first to doubt +and, distrust him! Diana, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. If my +wife"--his voice shook a little---"had ever doubted me--no matter how +black things might have looked against me--I think it would have broken +my heart." + +Diana's head drooped lower and lower as he spoke, and presently her +hand stole out, seeking his. In a moment it was taken and held in a +close and kindly clasp. + +"I'll--I'll marry him, Pobs," she whispered. + +So it came about that when, two days later, Max took his way to 24 +Brutton Square, the gods had better gifts in store for him than he had +dared to hope. + +He was pacing restlessly up and down her little sitting-room when she +entered it, and she could see that his face bore traces of the last few +days' anxiety. There were new lines about his mouth, and his eyes were +so darkly shadowed as to seem almost sunken in their sockets. + +"You have come back!" he said, stepping eagerly towards her. +"Diana"--there was a note of strain in his voice--"which is it? +Yes--or no?" + +She held out her hands. + +"It's--it's 'yes,' Max." + +A stifled exclamation broke from him, almost like a sob. He folded her +in his arms and laid his lips to hers. + +"My beloved! . . . Oh, Diana, if you could guess the agony--the +torture of the last ten days!" And he leaned his cheek against her +hair, and stood silently for a little space. + +Presently fear overcame him again--quick fear lest she should ever +regret having given herself to him. + +"Heart's dearest, have you realised that it will be very hard +sometimes? You will ask me to explain things--and I shan't be able to. +Is your trust big enough--great enough for this?" + +Diana raised her head from his shoulder. + +"I love you," she answered steadily. + +"Do you forget the shadow? It is there still, dogging my steps. Not +even your love can alter that." + +For a moment Diana rose to the heights of her womanhood. + +"If there must be a shadow," she said, "we will walk in it together." + +"But--don't you see?--I shall know what it is. To you it will always +be something unknown, hidden, mysterious. Child! Child! I wonder if +I am right to let you join your life to mine!" + +But Diana only repeated:-- + +"I love you." + +And at last he flung all thoughts of warning and doubt aside, and +secure in that reiterated "I love you!" yielded to the unutterable joy +of the moment. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +BARONI'S OPINION OF MATRIMONY + +"_Per Dio_! What is this you tell me? That you are to be +married? . . . My dear Mees Quentin, please put all such thoughts of +foolishness out of your mind. You are consecrated to art. The young +man must find another bride." + +It was thus that Carlo Baroni received the news of Diana's +engagement--at first with unmitigated horror, then sweeping it aside as +though it were a matter of no consequence whatever. + +Diana laughed, dimpling with amusement at the _maestro's_ indignation. +Now that she had given her faith, refusing to allow anything to stand +between her and Max, she was so supremely happy that she felt she could +afford to laugh at such relatively small obstacles as would be raised +by her old singing-master. + +"I'm afraid the 'young man' wouldn't agree to that," she returned +gaily. "He would say you must find another pupil." + +Baroni surveyed her with anxiety. + +"You are not serious?" he queried at last. + +"Indeed I am. I'm actually engaged--now, at this moment--and we +propose to get married before Christmas." + +"But it is impossible! _Giusto Cielo_! But impossible!" reiterated +the old man. "Mees Quentin, you cannot haf understood. Perhaps, in my +anxiety that you should strain every nerve to improve, I haf not +praised you enough--and so you haf not understood. Leesten, then. You +haf a voice than which there is not one so good in the whole of Europe. +It is superb--marvellous--the voice of the century. With that voice +you will haf the whole world at your feet; before long you will command +almost fabulous fees, and more, far more than this, you can interpret +the music of the great masters as they themselves would wish to hear +it. Me, Baroni, I know it. And you would fling such possibilities, +such a career, aside for mere matrimony! It is nonsense, I tell you, +sheer nonsense!" + +He paused for breath, and Diana laid her hand deprecatingly on his arm. + +"Dear _Maestro_," she said, "it's good of you to tell me all this, +and--and you mustn't think for one moment that I ever forget all you've +done for me. It's you who've made my voice what it is. But there +isn't the least reason why I should give up singing because I'm going +to be married. I don't intend to, I assure you." + +"I haf no doubt you mean well. But I haf heard other young singers say +the same thing, and then the husband--the so English husband!--he +objects to his wife's appearing in public, and _presto_! . . . Away +goes the career! No singer should marry until she is well established +in her profession. You are young. Marry in ten years' time and you +shall haf my blessing." + +"I shall want your blessing sooner than that," laughed Diana. "But I'm +not marrying a 'so English husband'! He's only partly English, and +he's quite willing for me to go on singing." + +Baroni regarded her seriously. + +"Is that so? Good! Then I will talk to the young man, so that he may +realise that he is not marrying just Mees Diana Quentin, but a voice--a +heaven-bestowed voice. What is his name?" + +"You know him," she answered smilingly. "It's Max Errington." + +She was utterly unprepared for the effect of her words. Baroni's face +darkened like a stormy sky, and his eyes literally blazed at her from +beneath their penthouse of shaggy brow. + +"Max Errington! _Donnerwetter_! But that is the worst of all!" + +Diana stared, at him in mute amazement, and, despite herself, her heart +sank with a sudden desperate apprehension. What did it mean? Why +should the mere mention of Max's name have roused the old _maestro_ to +such a fever of indignation? + +Presently Baroni turned to her again, speaking more composedly, +although little sparks of anger still flickered in his eyes ready to +leap into flame at the slightest provocation. + +"I haf met Mr. Errington. He is a charming man. But if you marry him, +my dear Mees Quentin--good-bye to your career as a world-artiste, +good-bye to the most marvellous voice that the good God has ever let me +hear." + +"I don't see why. Max thoroughly understands professional life." + +"Nevertheless, believe me, there will--there _must_ come a time when +Max Errington's wife will not be able to appear before the world as a +public singer. I who speak, I know." + +Diana flashed round upon him suddenly. + +"_You_--you know his secret?" + +"I know it." + +So, then, the secret which must be hidden from his wife was yet known +to Carlo Baroni! Diana felt her former resentment surge up anew within +her. It was unfair--shamefully unfair for Max to treat her in this +way! It was making a mockery of their love. + +Baroni's keen old eyes read the conflict of emotions in her face, and +he laid his finger unerringly upon the sore spot. His one idea was to +prevent Diana from marrying, to guard her--as he mentally phrased +it--for the art he loved so well, and he was prepared to stick at +nothing that might aid his cause. + +"So he has not told you?" he said slowly. "Do you not think it strange +of him?" + +Diana's breast rose and fell tumultuously. Baroni was turning the +knife in the wound with a vengeance. + +"_Maestro_, tell me,"--her voice came unevenly--"tell me. Is it"--she +turned her head away--"is it a . . . shameful . . . secret?" + +Inwardly she loathed herself for asking such a thing, but the words +seemed dragged from her without her own volition. + +Baroni hesitated. All his hopes and ambitions centred round Diana and +her marvellous voice. He had given of his best to train it to its +present perfection, and now he saw the fruit of his labour about to be +snatched from him. It was more than human nature could endure. +Errington meant nothing to him, Diana and her voice everything; and he +was prepared to sacrifice no matter whom to secure her career as an +artiste. By implication he sacrificed Errington. + +"It is not possible for me to say more. But be advised, my dear pupil. +Out of my great love for you I say it--_let Max Errington go his way_." + +And with those words--sinister, warning--ringing in her ears, Diana +returned to Brutton Square. + +But Baroni was not content to let matters remain as they stood, +trusting that his warning would do its work. He was determined to +leave no stone unturned, and he forthwith sought out Errington in his +own house and deliberately broached the subject of his engagement to +Diana. + +Max greeted him affectionately. + +"It's a long while since you honoured me with a visit," he said, +shaking hands. "I suppose"--laughingly--"you come to congratulate me?" + +The old man shook his head. + +"Far from it. I haf come to ask you to give her up." + +"To give her up?" repeated Max, in undisguised amazement. + +"Yes. Mees Quentin is not for marriage. She is dedicated to Art." + +Max smiled indulgently. + +"To Art? Yes. But she's for me, too, thank God! Dear old friend, you +need not look so anxious and concerned. I've no wish to interfere with +Diana's professional work. You shall have her voice"--smiling--"I'll +be content to hold her heart." + +But there was no answering smile on Baroni's lips. + +"_Does she know--everything_?" he asked sternly. + +Max shook his head. + +"No. How could she? . . . _You_ must realise the impossibility of +that," he answered slowly. + +"And you think it right to let her marry you in ignorance?" + +Max hesitated. Then-- + +"She trusts me," he said at last. + +"Pish! For how long? . . . When she sees daily under her eyes things +that she cannot explain, unaccountable things, how long will she remain +satisfied, I ask you? And then will begin unhappiness." + +Errington stiffened. + +"And what has our--supposititious--unhappiness to do with you, Signor +Baroni?" he asked haughtily. + +"_Your_ unhappiness? Nothing. It is the price you must pay--your +inheritance. But hers? Everything. Tears, fretting, vexation--and +that beautiful voice, that perfect organ, may be impaired. Think! +Think what you are doing! Just for your own personal happiness you are +risking the voice of the century, the voice that will give pleasure to +tens of thousands--to millions. You are committing a crime against +Art." + +Max smiled in spite of himself. + +"Truly, _Maestro_, I had not thought of it like that," he admitted. +"But I think her faith in me will carry us through," he added +confidently. + +"Never! Never! Women are not made like that." + +"And perhaps, later on, if things go well, I shall be able to tell her +all." + +"And much good that will do! _Diavolo_! When the time comes that +things go well--if it ever does come--" + +"It will. It shall," said Max firmly. + +"Well, if it does--I ask you, can she then continue her life as an +artiste?" + +Max reflected. + +"Yes, if I remain in England--which I hope to do. I counted on that +when I asked her to marry me. I think I shall be able to arrange it." + +"If! If! Are you going to hang your wife's happiness upon an 'if'?" +Baroni spoke with intense anger. "And 'if' you _cannot_ remain in +England, if you haf to go back--_there_? Can your wife still appear as +a public singer?" + +"No," acknowledged Max slowly. "I suppose not." + +"No! Her career will be ruined. And all this is the price she will +haf to pay for her--_trust_! Give it up, give it up--set her free." + +Max flung himself into a chair, leaning his arms wearily on the table, +and stared straight in front of him, his eyes dark with pain. + +"I can't," he said, in a low voice. "Not now. I meant to--I tried +to--but now she has promised and I can't let her go. Good God, +_Maestro_!"--a sudden ring of passion in his tones--"Must I give up +everything? Am I to have nothing in the world? Always to be a tool +and never live an individual man's life of my own?" + +Baroni's face softened a little. + +"One cannot escape one's destiny," he said sadly. "_Che sara +sara_. . . . But you can spare--her. Tell her the truth, and in +common fairness let her judge for herself--not rush blindfold into such +a web." + +Max shook his head. + +"You know I can't do that," he replied quietly. + +Baroni threw out his arms in despair. + +"I would tell her the whole truth myself--but for the memory of one who +is dead." Sudden tears dimmed the fierce old eyes. "For the sake of +that sainted martyr--martyr in life as well as in death--I will hold my +peace." + +A half-sad, half-humorous smile flashed across Errington's face. + +"We're all of us martyrs--more or less," he observed drily. + +"And you wish to add Mees Quentin to the list?" retorted Baroni. +"Well, I warn you, I shall fight against it. I will do everything in +my power to stop this marriage." + +Max shrugged his shoulders. + +"I'm sure you will," he said, smiling faintly. "But--forgive me, +_Maestro_--I don't think you will succeed." + +As soon as Baroni had taken his departure, Max called a taxi, and +hurried off to see Adrienne de Gervais. He had arranged to talk over +with her a certain scene in the play he was now writing for her, and +which was to be produced early in the New Year. + +Adrienne welcomed him good-humouredly. + +"A little late," she observed, glancing at the clock. "But I suppose +one must not expect punctuality when a man's in love." + +"I know I'm late, but I can assure you"--with a grim smile--"love had +little enough to do with it." + +Adrienne looked up sharply, struck by the bitter note in his voice. + +"Then what had?" she asked. "What has gone wrong, Max? You look +fagged out." + +"Baroni has been round to see me--to ask me to break off my +engagement." He laughed shortly. + +"He doesn't approve, I suppose?" + +"That's a mild way of expressing his attitude." + +Adrienne was silent a moment. Then she spoke, slowly, consideringly. + +"I don't--approve--either. It isn't right, Max." + +He bit his lip. + +"So you--you, too, are against me?" + +She stretched out her hand impulsively. + +"Not against you, Max! Never that! How could I be? . . . But I don't +think you're being quite fair to Diana. You ought to tell her the +truth." + +He wheeled round. + +"No one knows better than you how impossible that is." + +"Don't you trust her then--the woman you're asking to be your wife?" + +The tinge of irony in her voice brought a sudden light of anger to his +eyes. + +"That's not very just of you, Adrienne," he said coldly. "_I_ would +trust her with my life. But I have no right to pledge the trust of +others--and that's what I should be doing if I told her. We have our +duty--you and I--and all this . . . is part of it." + +Adrienne hesitated. + +"Couldn't you--ask the others to release you?" + +He shook his head. + +"What right have I to ask them to trust an Englishwoman with their +secret--just for my pleasure?" + +"For your happiness," corrected Adrienne softly. + +"Or for my happiness? My happiness doesn't count with them one straw." + +"It does with me. I don't see why she shouldn't be told. Baroni +knows, and Olga--you have to trust them." + +"Baroni will be silent for the sake of the dead, and Olga out of her +love--or fear"--with a bitter smile--"of me." + +"And wouldn't Diana, too, be silent for your sake?" + +"My dear Adrienne"--a little irritably--"Englishwomen are so frank--so +indiscreetly trusting. That's where the difficulty lies, and I dare +not risk it. There's too much at stake. But can you imagine any agent +they may have put upon our track surprising her knowledge out of Olga?" +He laughed contemptuously. "I fancy not! If Olga hadn't been a woman +she'd have made her mark in the Diplomatic Service." + +"Yet what is there to make her keep faith with us?" said Adrienne +doubtfully. "She is poor--" + +"Her own doing, that!" + +"True, but the fact remains. And those others would pay a fortune for +the information she could give. Besides, I believe she frankly hates +me." + +"Possibly. But she would never, I think, allow her personal feelings +to override everything else. After all, she was one of us--is still, +really, though she would gladly disown the connection." + +"Well, when you've looked at every side of the matter, we only come +back to the same point. I think you're acting wrongly. You're letting +Diana pledge herself blindly, when you're not free to give her the +confidence a man should give his wife--when you don't even +know--yet--how it may all end." + +Almost Baroni's very words! Max winced. + +"No. I don't know how it will end, as you say. But surely there +_will_ come a time when I shall be free to live my own life?" + +Adrienne smiled a trifle wistfully. + +"If your conscience ever lets you," she said. + +There was a long silence. Presently she resumed:--- + +"I never thought, when you first told me about your engagement, that +the position of affairs need make any difference. I was so pleased to +think that you cared for each other! And now--where will it all end? +How many lives are going to be darkened by the same shadow? Oh, it's +terrible, Max, terrible!" + +The tears filled her eyes. + +"Don't!" said Max unsteadily. "Don't! I know it's bad enough. +Perhaps you're right--I oughtn't to have spoken to Diana, I hoped +things would right themselves eventually, but you and Baroni have put +another complexion upon matters. It's all an inextricable tangle, +whichever way one looks at it--come good luck or bad! . . . I suppose +I was wrong--I ought to have waited. But now . . . now . . . Before +God, Adrienne! I can't, give her up--not now!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +"WHOM GOD HATH JOINED TOGETHER" + +Max and Diana were married shortly before the following Christmas. The +wedding took place very quietly at Crailing, only a few intimate friends +being asked to it. For, as Max pointed out, either their invitations +must be limited to a dozen or so, or else Diana must resign herself to a +fashionable wedding in town, with all the world and his wife as guests at +the subsequent reception. No middle course is possible when a well-known +dramatist elects to marry the latest sensation in the musical world! + +So it was in the tiny grey church overlooking the sea that Max and Diana +were made one, with the distant murmur of the waves in their ears, and +with Alan Stair to speak the solemn words that joined their lives +together, and when the little intimate luncheon which followed the +ceremony was over, they drove away in Max's car to the wild, beautiful +coast of Cornwall, there to spend the first perfect days of their married +life. + +And they were perfect days! Afterwards, when clouds had dimmed the +radiance of the sun, and doubts and ugly questionings were beating up on +every side, Diana had always that radiant fortnight by the Cornish +sea--she and Max alone together--to look back upon. + +The woman whose married life holds sorrow, and who has no such golden +memory stored away, is bereft indeed! + +On their return to London, the Erringtons established themselves at Lilac +Lodge, a charming old-fashioned house in Hampstead, where the +creeper-clad walls and great bushes of lilac reminded Diana pleasantly of +the old Rectory at Crailing. Jerry made one of the household--"resident +secretary" as he proudly termed himself, and his cheery, good-humoured +presence was invaluable whenever difficulties arose. + +But at first there were few, indeed, of the latter to contend with. +Owing to the illness of an important member of the cast, without whose +services Adrienne declined to perform, the production of Max's new play, +"Mrs. Fleming's Husband," was delayed until the autumn. This +postponement left him free to devote much more of his time to his wife +than would otherwise have been possible, and for the first few months +after their marriage it seemed as though no shadow could ever fall +athwart their happiness. + +In this respect Baroni's prognostications of evil had failed to +materialise, but his fears that marriage would interfere with Diana's +musical career were better founded. Quite easily and naturally she +slipped out of the professional life which had just been opening its +doors to her. She felt no inclination to continue singing in public. +Max filled her existence, and although she still persevered with her +musical training under Baroni, she told him with a frank enjoyment of the +situation that she was far too happy and enjoying herself far too much to +have any desire at present to take up the arduous work of a public singer! + +Baroni was immeasurably disappointed, and not all Diana's assurances that +in a year, or two at most, she would go back into harness once more +sufficed to cheer him. + +"A year--two years!" he exclaimed. "Two years lost at the critical +time--just at the commencement of your career! Ah, my dear Mrs. +Errington, you had better haf lost four years later on when you haf +established yourself." + +To Max himself the old _maestro_ was short and to the point when chance +gave him the opportunity of a few moments alone with him. + +"You haf stolen her from me, Max Errington--you haf broken your promise +that she should be free to sing." + +Max responded good-humouredly:-- + +"She _is_ free, _Maestro_, free to do exactly as she chooses. And she +has chosen--to be my wife, to live for a time the pleasant, peaceful life +that ordinary, everyday folk may live, who are not rushed hither and +thither at the call of a career. Can you honestly say she hasn't chosen +the better part?" + +Baroni was silent. + +"Don't grudge her a year or two of freedom," pursued Max. "You know, you +old slave-driver, you,"--laughing--"that it is only because you want her +for your beloved Art--because you want her voice! Otherwise you would +rejoice in her happiness." + +"And you--what is it you want?" retorted Baroni, unappeased. "You want +her soul! Whereas I would give her soul wings that she might send it +singing forth into an enraptured world." + +But Baroni's words fell upon stony ground, and Max and Diana went their +way, absorbed in one another and in the wonderful happiness which love +had brought them. + +Thus spring slipped away into summer, and the season was in full swing +when fate tossed the first pebble into their unruffled pool of joy. + +It was only a brief paragraph, sandwiched in between the musical notes of +a morning paper, to which Olga Lermontof, who came daily to Lilac Lodge +to practise with Diana, drew the latter's attention. The paragraph +recalled the fact that it was just a year since Miss Quentin had made her +debut, and then went on to comment lightly upon the brief and meteoric +character of her professional appearances. + + +"Domesticity should not have claimed Miss Quentin"--so ran the actual +words. "Hers was a voice the like of which we may not hear again, and +the public grudges its withdrawal. _A propos_, we had always thought +(until circumstances proved us hopelessly wrong) that the fortunate man, +whose gain has been such a loss to the musical world, seemed born to +write plays for a certain charming actress--and she to play the part +which he assigned her." + + +Diana showed the paragraph to Max, who frowned as he read it, and finally +tore the newspaper in which it had appeared across and across, flinging +the pieces into the grate. + +Then he turned and laid his hands on Diana's shoulders, gazing +searchingly into her face. + +"Have you felt--anything of what that paragraph suggests?" he demanded. +"Am I taking too much from you, Diana? I love to keep you to myself--not +to have to share you with the world, but I won't stand in your light, or +hold you back if you wish to go--not even"--with a wry smile--"if it +should mean your absence on a tour." + +"Silly boy!" Diana patted his head reprovingly. "I don't _want_ to sing +in public--at least, not now, not yet. Later on, I dare say, I shall +like to take it up again. And as for leaving you and going on +tour"--laughingly--"the latter half of the paragraph should serve as a +warning to me not to think of such a thing!" + +To her surprise Max did not laugh with her. Instead, he answered +coldly:-- + +"I hope you have more sense than to pay attention to what any damned +newspaper may have to say about me--or about Miss de Gervais either." + +"Why, Max,--Max--" + +Diana stared at him in dismay, flushing a little. It was the first time +he had spoken harshly to her since their marriage. + +In an instant he had caught her in his arms, passionately repentant. + +"Dearest, forgive me! It was only--only that you are bound to read such +things, and it angered me for a moment. Miss de Gervais and I see too +much of each other to escape all comment." + +Diana withdrew herself slowly from his arms. + +"And--and must you see so much of her now? Now that we are married?" she +asked, rather wistfully. + +"Why, of course. We have so many professional matters to discuss. You +must be prepared for that, Diana. When we begin rehearsing 'Mrs. +Fleming's Husband,' I shall be down at the theatre every day." + +"Oh, yes, at the theatre. But--but you go to see Adrienne rather often +now, don't you? And the rehearsals haven't begun yet." + +Max hesitated a moment. Then he said quietly:-- + +"Dear, you must learn not to be jealous of my work. There are +always--many things--that I have to discuss with Miss de Gervais." + +And so, for the time being, the subject dropped. But the shadow had +flitted for a moment across the face of the sun. A little cloud, no +bigger than a man's hand, had shown itself upon the horizon. + +In July the Erringtons left town to spend a brief holiday at Crailing +Rectory, and on their return, the preparations for the production of +"Mrs. Fleming's Husband" went forward in good earnest. + +They had not been back in town a week before Diana realised that, as the +wife of a dramatist on the eve of the production of a play, she must be +prepared to cede her prior right in her husband to the innumerable people +who claimed his time on matters relating to the forthcoming production, +and, above all, to the actress who was playing the leading part in it. + +And it was in respect of this latter demand that Diana found the +matrimonial shoe begin to pinch. To her, it seemed as though Adrienne +were for ever 'phoning Max to come and see her, and invariably he set +everything else aside--even Diana herself, if needs be--and obeyed her +behest. + +"I can't see why Adrienne wants to consult you so often," Diana protested +one day. "She is perpetually ringing you up to go round to Somervell +Street--or if it's not that, then she is writing to you." + +Max laughed her protest aside. + +"Well, there's a lot to consult about, you see," he said vaguely. + +"So it seems. I shall be glad when it is all finished and I have you to +myself again. When will the play be on?" + +"About the middle of October," he replied, fidgeting restlessly with the +papers that strewed his desk. They were talking in his own particular +den, and Diana's eyes ruefully followed the restless gesture. + +"I suppose," she said slowly, "you want me to go?" + +"Well"--apologetically--"I have a lot to attend to this morning. Will +you send Jerry to me--do you mind, dearest?" + +"It wouldn't make much difference if I did," she responded grimly, as she +went towards the door. + +Max looked after her thoughtfully in silence. When she had gone, he +leaned his head rather wearily upon his hand. + +"It's better so," he muttered. "Better she should think it's only the +play that binds me to Adrienne." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE APPROACHING SHADOW + +Diana gathered up her songs and slowly dropped them into her +music-case, while Baroni stared at her with a puzzled, brooding look in +his eyes. + +At last he spoke:-- + +"You are throwing away the great gift God has given you. First, you +will take no more engagements, and now--what is it? Where is your +voice?" + +Diana, conscious of having done herself less than justice at the lesson +which was just concluded, shook her head. + +"I don't know," she said simply. "I don't seem able to sing now, +somehow." + +Baroni shrugged his shoulders. + +"You are fretting," he declared. "And so the voice suffers." + +"Fretting? I don't know that I've anything to fret about"--vaguely. +"Only I shall be glad when 'Mrs. Fleming's Husband' is actually +produced. Just now"--with a rather wistful smile--"I don't seem to +have a husband to call my own. Miss de Gervais claims so much of his +time." + +Baroni's brow grew stormy. + +"Mees de Gervais? Of course! It is inevitable!" he muttered. "I knew +it must be like that." + +Diana regarded him curiously. + +"But why? Do--do all dramatists have to consult so much with the +leading actress in the play?" + +The old _maestro_ made a sweeping gesture with his arm, as though +disavowing any knowledge of the matter. + +"Do not ask me!" he said bitterly. "Ask Max Errington--ask your +husband these questions." + +At the condemnation in his voice her loyalty asserted itself +indignantly. + +"You are right," she said quickly. "I ought not to have asked you. +Good-bye, signor." + +But Diana's loyalty was hard put to it to fight the newly awakened +jealousy that was stirring in her heart, and it seemed as though just +now everything and everybody combined to add fuel to the fire, for, +only a few days later, when Miss Lermontof came to Lilac Lodge to +practise with Diana, she, too, added her quota of disturbing comment. + +"You're looking very pale," she remarked, at the end of the hour. "And +you're shockingly out of voice! What's the matter?" + +Then, as Diana made no answer, she added teasingly: "Matrimony doesn't +seem to have agreed with you too well. Doesn't Max play the devoted +husband satisfactorily?" + +Diana flushed. + +"You've no right to talk like that, Olga, even in jest," she said, with +a little touch of matronly dignity that sat rather quaintly and sweetly +upon her. "I know you don't like Max--never have liked him--but please +recollect that you're speaking of my husband." + +"You misunderstand me," replied the Russian, coolly, as she drew on her +gloves. "I _don't_ dislike him; but I do think he ought to be +perfectly frank with you. As you say, he is your husband"--pointedly. + +"Perfectly frank with me?" + +Miss Lermontof nodded. + +"Yes." + +"He has been," affirmed Diana. + +"Has he, indeed? Have you ever asked him"--she paused +significantly--"who he is?" + +"_Who he is_?" Diana felt her heart contract. What new mystery was +this at which the other was hinting? + +"_Who he is_?" she repeated. "Why--why--what do you mean?" + +The accompanists queer green eyes narrowed between their heavy lids. + +"Ask him--that's all," she replied shortly. + +She drew her furs around her shoulders preparatory to departure, but +Diana stepped in front of her, laying a detaining hand on her arm. + +"What do you mean?" she demanded hotly. "Are you implying now that Max +is going about under a false name? I hate your hints! Always, always +you've tried to insinuate something against Max. . . . No!"--as the +Russian endeavoured to free herself from her clasp--"No! You shan't +leave this house till you've answered my question. You've made an +accusation, and you shall prove it--if I have to bring you face to face +with Max himself!" + +"I've made no accusation--merely a suggestion that you should ask him +who he is. And as to bringing me face to face with him--I can assure +you"--there was an inflection of ironical amusement in her light +tones--"no one would be less anxious for such a _denouement_ than Max +Errington himself. Now, good-bye; think over what I've said. And +remember"--mockingly--"Adrienne de Gervais is a bad friend for the man +one loves!" + +She flitted through the doorway, and Diana was left to deal as best she +might with the innuendo contained in her speech. + +"_Adrienne de Gervais is a bad friend for the man one loves._" + +The phrase seemed to crystallise in words the whole vague trouble that +had been knocking at her heart, and she realised suddenly, with a shock +of unbearable dismay, that she was _jealous--jealous of Adrienne_! +Hitherto, she had not in the least understood the feeling of depression +and _malaise_ which had assailed her. She had only known that she felt +restless and discontented when Max was out of her sight, irritated at +the amount of his time which Miss de Gervais claimed, and she had +ascribed these things to the depth of her love for him! But now, with +a sudden flash of insight, engendered by the Russian's dexterous +suggestion, she realised that it was jealousy, sheer primitive jealousy +of another woman that had gripped her, and her young, wholesome, +spontaneous nature recoiled in horrified self-contempt at the +realisation. + +Pobs' good counsel came back to her mind: "It seems to me that if you +love him, you needs _must_ trust him." Ah! but that was uttered in +regard to another matter--the secret which shadowed Max's life--and she +_had_ trusted him over that, she told herself. This, this jealousy of +another woman, was an altogether different thing, something which had +crept insidiously into her heart, and woven its toils about her almost +before she was aware of it. + +And behind it all there loomed a new terror. Olga Lermontof's advice: +"_Ask him who he is_," beat at the back of her brain, fraught with +fresh mystery, the forerunner of a whole host of new suspicions. + +Secrecy and concealment of any kind were utterly alien to Diana's +nature. Impulsive, warm-hearted, quick-tempered, she was the last +woman in the world to have been thrust by an unkind fate into an +atmosphere of intrigue and mystery. She was like a pretty, fluttering, +summer moth, caught in the gossamer web of a spider--terrified, +struggling, battling against something she did not understand, and +utterly without the patience and strong determination requisite to free +herself. + +For hours after Olga's departure she fought down the temptation to +follow her advice and question her husband. She could not bring +herself to hurt him--as it must do if he guessed that she distrusted +him. But neither could she conquer the suspicions that had leaped to +life within her. At last, for the time being, love obtained the +mastery--won the first round of the struggle. + +"I will trust him," she told herself. "And--and whether I trust him or +not," she ended up defiantly, "at least he shall never know, never see +it, if--if I can't." + +So that it was a very sweet and repentant, if rather wan, Diana that +greeted her husband when he returned from the afternoon rehearsal at +the theatre. + +Max's keen eyes swept the white, shadowed face. + +"Has Miss Lermontof been here to-day?" he asked abruptly. + +"Yes." A burning flush chased away her pallor as she answered his +question. + +"I see." + +"You see?"--nervously. "What do you see?" + +A very gentle expression came into Max's eyes. + +"I see," he said kindly, "that I have a tired wife. You mustn't let +Baroni and Miss Lermontof work you too hard between them." + +"Oh, they don't, Max." + +"All right, then. Only"--cupping her chin in his hand and turning her +face up to his--"I notice I often have a somewhat worried-looking wife +after one of Miss Lermontof's visits. I don't think she is too good a +friend for you, Diana. Couldn't you get some one else to accompany +you?" + +Diana hesitated. She would have been quite glad to dispense with +Olga's services had it been possible. The Russian was for ever hinting +at something in connection either with Max or Miss de Gervais; to-day +she had but gone a step further than usual. + +"Well?" queried Max, reading the doubt in Diana's eyes. + +"I'm afraid I couldn't engage any one else to accompany me," she said +at last. "You see, Olga is Baroni's chosen accompanist, and--it might +make trouble." + +A curious expression crossed his face. + +"Yes," he agreed slowly. "It might--make trouble, as you say. Well, +why not ask Joan to stay with you for a time--to counterbalance +matters?" + +"Excellent suggestion!" exclaimed Diana, her spirits going up with a +bound. Joan was always so satisfactory and cheerful and commonplace +that she felt as though her mere presence in the house would serve to +dispel the vague, indefinable atmosphere of suspicion that seemed +closing round her. "I'll write to her at once." + +"Yes, do. If she can come next month, she will be here for the first +night of 'Mrs. Fleming's Husband.'" + +Diana went away to write her letter, while Max remained pacing +thoughtfully up and down the room, tapping restlessly with his fingers +on his chest as he walked. His face showed signs of fatigue--the hard +work in connection with the production of his play was telling on +him--and since the brief interview with his wife, a new look of +anxiety, an alert, startled expression, had dawned in his eyes. + +He seemed to be turning something over in his mind as he paced to and +fro. At last, apparently, he came to a decision. + +"I'll do it," he said aloud. "It's a possible chance of silencing her." + +He made his way downstairs, pausing at the door of the library, where +Diana was poring over her letter to Joan. + +"I find I must go out again," he said. "But I shall be back in time +for dinner." + +Diana looked up in dismay. + +"But you've had no tea, Max," she protested. + +"Can't stay for it now, dear." + +He dropped a light kiss on her hair and was gone, while Diana, flinging +down her pen, exclaimed aloud:-- + +"It's that woman again! I know it is! She's rung him up!" + +And it never dawned upon her that the fact that she had unthinkingly +referred to Adrienne de Gervais as "that woman" marked a turning-point +in her attitude towards her. + +Meanwhile Errington hailed a taxi and directed the chauffeur to drive +him to 24 Brutton Square, where he asked to see Miss Lermontof. + +He was shown into the big and rather gloomy-looking public +drawing-room, of which none of Mrs. Lawrence's student-boarders made +use except when receiving male visitors, much preferring the cheery +comfort of their own bed-sitting-rooms--for Diana had been the only one +amongst them whose means had permitted the luxury of a separate +sitting-room--and in a few minutes Olga joined him there. + +There was a curiously hostile look in her face as she greeted him. + +"This is--an unexpected pleasure, Max," she began mockingly. "To what +am I indebted?" + +Errington hesitated a moment. Then, his keen eyes resting piercingly +on hers, he said quietly:-- + +"I want to know how we stand, Olga. Are you trying to make mischief +for me with my wife?" + +"Then she's asked you?" exclaimed Olga triumphantly. + +"Diana has asked me nothing. Though I have no doubt that you have been +hinting and suggesting things to her that she would ask me about if it +weren't for her splendid, loyalty. You have the tongue of an asp, +Olga! Always, after your visits, I can see that Diana is worried and +unhappy." + +"How can she ever be happy--as your wife?" + +Errington winced. + +"I could make her happy--if you--you and Baroni--would let me. I know +I must regard you as an enemy in--that other matter . . . as a 'passive +resister,' at least," he amended, with a bitter smile. "But am I to +regard you as an enemy to my marriage, too? Or, is it your idea of +punishment, perhaps--to wreck my happiness?" + +Olga shrugged her shoulders, and, walking to the window, stood there +silently, staring out into the street. When she turned back again, her +eyes were full of tears. + +"Max," she said earnestly, "you may not believe it, but I want your +happiness above everything else in the world. There is no one I love +as I love you. Give up--that other affair. Wash your hands of it. +Let Adrienne go, and take your happiness with Diana. That's what I'm +working for--to make you choose between Diana and that interloper. You +won't give her up for me; but perhaps, if Diana--if your wife--insists, +you will shake yourself free, break with Adrienne de Gervais at last. +Sometimes I'm almost tempted to tell Diana the truth, to force your +hand!" + +Errington's eyes blazed. + +"If you did that," he said quietly, "I would never see, or speak to +you, again." + +Olga shivered a little. + +"Your honour is mine," he went on. "Remember that." + +"It isn't fair," she burst out passionately. "It isn't fair to put it +like that. Why should I, and you, and Diana--all of us--be sacrificed +for Adrienne?" + +"Because you and I are--what we are, and because Diana is my wife." + +Olga looked at him curiously. + +"Then--if it came to a choice--you would actually sacrifice Diana?" + +Errington's face whitened. + +"It will not--it shall not!" he said vehemently. "Diana's faith will +pull us through." + +Olga smiled contemptuously. + +"Don't be too sure. After all a woman's trust won't stand everything, +and you're asking a great deal from Diana--a blind faith, under +circumstances which might shake the confidence of any one. +Already"--she leaned forward a little--"already she is beginning to be +jealous of Adrienne." + +"And whom have I to thank for that? You--you, from whom, more than +from any other, I might have expected loyalty." + +Olga shook her head. + +"No, not me. But the fact that no wife worth the name will stand +quietly by and see her husband at the beck and call of another woman." + +"More especially when there is some one who drops poison in her ear day +by day," he retorted. + +"Yes," she acknowledged frankly. "If I can bring matters to a head, +force you to a choice between Adrienne and Diana, I shall do it. And +then, before God, Max! I believe you'll free yourself from that woman." + +"No," he answered quietly, "I shall not." + +"You'll sacrifice Diana?"--incredulously. + +A smile of confidence lightened his face. + +"I don't think it will come to that. I'm staking--everything--on +Diana's trust in me." + +"Then you'll lose--lose, I tell you." + +"No," he said steadily. "I shall win." + +Olga smote her hands together. + +"Was there ever such a fool! I tell you, no woman's trust can hold out +for ever. And since you can't explain to her--" + +"It won't be for ever," he broke in quickly. "Everything goes well. +Before long all the concealment will be at an end. And I shall be +free." + +Olga turned away. + +"I can't wish you success," she said bitterly. "The day that brings +you success will be the blackest hour of my life." + +Errington's face softened a little. + +"Olga, you are unreasonable--" + +"Unreasonable, am I? Because I grudge paying for the sins of +others? . . . If that is unreasonable--yes, then, I _am_ unreasonable! +Now, go. Go, and remember, Max, we are on opposite sides of the camp." + +Errington paused at the door. + +"So long as you keep your honour--_our_ honour--clean," he said, "do +what you like! I have utter, absolute trust in Diana." + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE "FIRST NIGHT" PERFORMANCE + +The curtain fell amidst a roar of applause, and the lights flashed up +over the auditorium once more. It was the first night performance of +"Mrs. Fleming's Husband," and the house was packed with the usual crowd +of first-nighters, critics, and members of "the" profession who were +anxious to see Miss de Gervais in the new part Max Errington had +created for her. + +Diana and Joan Stair were in a box, escorted only by Jerry, since Max +had firmly refused to come down to the theatre for the first +performance. + +"I can't stand first nights," he had said. "At least, not of my own +plays." And not even Diana's persuasions had availed to move him from +this decision. + +Joan was ecstatic in her praise. + +"Isn't Adrienne simply wonderful?" she exclaimed, as the music of the +_entr'acte_ stole out from the hidden orchestra. + +"'M, yes." Diana's reply lacked enthusiasm. + +Joan, if she could not boast great powers of intuition, was dowered +with a keen observation, and she had not spent a week at Lilac Lodge +without putting two and two together and making four of them. She had +noticed a great change in Diana. The girl was moody and unusually +silent; her gay good spirits had entirely vanished, and more than once +Joan had caught her regarding her husband with a curious mixture of +resentment and contempt in her eyes. Joan was frankly worried over the +state of affairs. + +"Why this _nil admirari_ attitude?" she asked. "Have you and Adrienne +quarrelled?" + +"Quarrelled?" Diana raised her brows ever so slightly. "What should +we quarrel about? As a matter of fact, I really don't see very much of +her nowadays." + +"So I imagined," replied Joan calmly. "When I stayed with you last +May, either she came to the Lodge, or you went to Somervell Street, +every day of the week. This time, you've not seen each other since I +came." + +"No? I don't think"--lightly--"that Adrienne cares much for members of +her own sex. She prefers--their husbands." + +Joan stared in amazement. The little acid speech was so unlike Diana +that she felt convinced it sprang from some new and strong antagonism +towards the actress. What could be the cause of it? Diana and +Adrienne had been warm friends only a few months ago! + +Joan's eyes travelled from Diana's small, set face to Jerry's pleasant +boyish one. The latter had opened his mouth to speak, then thought +better of it, and closed it again, reddening uncomfortably, and his +dismayed expression was so obvious as to be almost comic. + +The rise of the curtain for the third and last act put a summary end to +any further conversation and Joan bent her attention on the stage once +more, though all the time that her eyes and ears were absorbing the +shifting scenes and brilliant dialogue of the play a little, persistent +inner voice at the back of her brain kept repeating Diana's nonchalant +"_I really don't see very much of her nowadays_," and querying +irrepressibly, "_Why not_?" + +Meanwhile, Diana, unconscious of the uneasy curiosity she had awakened +in the mind of Joan, was watching the progress of the play intently. +How designedly it was written around Adrienne de Gervais--calculated to +give every possible opportunity to a fine emotional actress! Her lips +closed a little more tightly together as the thought took hold of her. +The author must have studied Adrienne, watched her every mood, learned +every twist of her temperament, to have portrayed a character so +absolutely suited to her as that of Mrs. Fleming. And how could a man +know a woman's soul so well unless--unless it were the soul of the +woman he loved? That was it; that was the explanation of all those +things which had puzzled, and bewildered her for so long. And the +author was her husband! + +Diana, staring down from her box at that exquisite, breathing +incarnation of grace on the stage below, felt that she hated Adrienne. +She had never hated any one before, and the intensity of her feeling +frightened her. Since a few months ago, strange, deep emotions had +stirred within her--a passion of love and a passion of hatred such as +in the days of her simple girlhood she would not have believed to be +possible to any ordinary well-brought-up young Englishwoman. That Max +was capable of a fierce heat of passion, she knew. But then, he was +not all English; wilder blood ran in his veins. She could imagine his +killing a man if driven by the lash of passionate jealousy. But she +had never pictured herself obsessed by hate of a like quality. + +And yet, now, as her eyes followed Adrienne's slender figure, with its +curious little air of hauteur that always set her so apart from other +women, moving hither and thither on the stage, her hands clenched +themselves fiercely, and her grey eyes dilated with the intensity of +her hatred. Almost--almost she could understand how men and women +killed each other in the grip of a jealous love. . . . + +The play was ended. Adrienne had bowed repeatedly in response to the +wild enthusiasm of the audience, and of a sudden a new cry mingled with +the shouts and clapping. + +"Author! Author!" + +Adrienne came forward again and bowed, smilingly shaking her head, +gesturing a negative with her hands. But still the cry went on, +"Author! Author!"--the steady, persistent drone of an audience which +does not mean to be denied. + +Diana experienced a brief thrill of triumph. She felt convinced that +Adrienne would have liked to have Max standing beside her at this +moment. It would have set the seal on an evening of glorious success, +completed it, as it were. And he had refused to come, declined--so +Diana put it to herself--to share the evening's triumph with the +actress who had so well interpreted his work. At least this would be a +pin-prick in the enemy's side! + +And then--then--a hand pulled aside the heavy folds of the stage +curtain, and the next moment Max and Adrienne were standing there +together, bowing and smiling, while the audience roared and cheered its +enthusiasm. + +Diana could hardly believe her eyes. Max had told her so emphatically +that he would not come. And now, he was here! He had lied to her! +The affair had been pre-arranged between him and Adrienne all the time? +Only she--the wife!--had been kept in the dark. Probably he had spent +the entire evening behind the scenes. . . . In her overwrought +condition, no supposition was too wild for credence. + +Vaguely she heard some one at the back of the house shout "Speech!" and +the cry was taken up by a dozen voices, but Max only laughed and shook +his head, and once more the heavy curtains fell together, shutting him +and Adrienne from her sight. + +Mechanically Diana gathered up her wraps and prepared to leave the box. + +"Aren't you coming round behind to congratulate them, Mrs. Errington?" + +Jerry's astonished tones broke on her ears as she turned down the +corridor in the direction of the vestibule. + +"No," she replied quietly. "I'm going home." + + * * * * * * + +"You told me you wouldn't come to the theatre--and you intended going +all the time!" + +Diana's wraps were flung on the chair beside her, and she stood, a +slim, pliant figure in her white evening gown, defiantly facing her +husband. + +"No, I'd no intention of going. I detest first nights," he answered. + +"Then why were you there? Oh, I don't believe it--I don't believe it! +You simply wanted to spend the evening with Adrienne; that was why you +refused to go with me." + +"Diana!" Max spoke incredulously. "You can't believe--you can't think +that!" + +"But I do think that!"--imperiously. "What else can I think?" Her +long-pent jealousy had broken forth at last, and the words raced from +her lips. "You refused to come when I asked you--offered me Jerry as +an escort instead. Jerry!"--scornfully--"I'm to be content with my +husband's secretary, I suppose, so that my husband himself can dance +attendance on Adrienne de Gervais?" + +Max stood motionless, his eyes like steel. + +"You are being--rather childish," he said at last, with slow +deliberation. His cool, contemptuous tones cut like a whip. + +She had been rapidly losing her self-command, and, reading the intense +anger beneath his outward calm, she made an effort to pull herself +together. + +"Childish?" she retorted. "Yes, I suppose it is childish to mind being +deceived. I ought to have been prepared for it--expected it." + +At the note of suffering in her voice the anger died swiftly out of his +eyes. + +"You don't mean that, Diana," he said, more gently. + +"Yes, I do. You warned me--didn't you?--that there would be things you +couldn't explain. I suppose"--bitterly--"this is one of them!" + +"No, it is not. I can explain this. I didn't intend coming to-night, +as I told you. But Miss de Gervais rang up from the theatre and begged +me to come, so, of course, as she wished it--" + +"'As she wished it!' Are her wishes, then, of so much more importance +than mine?" + +Errington was silent for a moment. At last he replied quietly:-- + +"You know they are not. But in this case, in the matter of the play, +she is entitled to every consideration." + +Diana's eyes searched his face. Beneath the soft laces of her gown her +breast still rose and fell stormily, but she had herself in hand now. + +"Max, when I married you I took . . . something . . . on trust." She +spoke slowly, weighing her words, "But I didn't expect that something +to include--Adrienne! What has she to do with you?" + +Errington's brows came sharply together. He drew a quick, short breath +as though bracing himself to meet some unforeseen danger. + +"I've written a play for her," he answered shortly. + +"Yes, I know. But is that all that there is between you--this play?" + +"I can't answer that question," he replied quietly. + +Diana flung out her hand with a sudden, passionate gesture. + +"You've answered it, I think," she said scornfully. + +He took a quick stride towards her, catching her by the arms. + +"Diana"--his voice vibrated--"won't you trust me?" + +"Trust you! How can I?" she broke out wildly. "If trusting you means +standing by whilst Adrienne-- Oh, I can't bear it. You're asking +too much of me, Max. I didn't know . . . when you asked me to trust +you . . . that it meant--_this_! . . . And there's something else, +too. Who are you? What is your real name? I don't even +know"--bitterly--"whom I've married!" + +He released her suddenly, almost as though she had struck him. + +"Who has been talking to you?" he demanded, thickly. + +"_Then it's true_?" + +Diana's hands fell to her sides and every drop of colour drained away +from her face. The question had been lying dormant in her mind ever +since the day when Olga Lermontof had first implanted it there. Now it +had sprung from her lips, dragged forth by the emotion of the moment. +_And he couldn't answer it_! + +"Then it's true?" she repeated. + +Errington's face set like a mask. + +"That is a question you shouldn't have asked," he replied coldly. + +"And one you cannot answer?" + +He bent his head. + +"And one I cannot answer." + +Very slowly she picked up her wraps. + +"Thank you," she said unsteadily. "I'll--I'll go now." + +He laid his hand deliberately on the door-handle. + +"No," he said. "No, you won't go. I've heard what you have to say; +now you'll listen to me. Good God, Diana!" he continued passionately. +"Do you think I'm going to stand quietly by and see our happiness +wrecked?" + +"I don't see how you can prevent it," she said dully. + +"I? No; I can do nothing. But you can. Diana, beloved, have faith in +me! I can't explain those things to you--not now. Some day, please +God, I shall be able to, but till that day comes--trust me!" There was +a depth of supplication and entreaty in his tone, but it left her +unmoved. She felt frozen--passionless. + +"Do you mean--do you mean that Adrienne, your name, everything, is all +part of--of what you can't tell me? Part of--the shadow?" + +He was silent a moment. Then he answered steadily:-- + +"Yes. That much I may tell you." + +She put up her hand and pushed back her hair impatiently from her +forehead. + +"I can't understand it . . . I can't understand it," she muttered. + +"Dear, must one understand--to love? . . . Can't you have faith?" + +His eyes, those blue eyes of his which could be by turns so fierce, so +unrelenting, and--did she not know it to her heart's undoing?--so +unutterably tender, besought her. But, for once, they awakened no +response. She felt cold--quite cold and indifferent. + +"No, Max," she answered wearily. "I don't think I can. You ask me to +believe that there is need for you to see so much of Adrienne. At +first you said it was because of the play. Now you say it has to do +with this--this thing I may not know. . . . I'm afraid I can't believe +it. I think a man's wife should come first--first of anything. I've +tried--oh, I've tried not to mind when you left me so often to go to +Adrienne. I used to tell myself that it was only on account of the +play. I tried to believe it, because--because I loved you so. +But"--with a bitter little smile--"I don't think I ever _really_ +believed it--I only cheated myself. . . . There's something else, +too--the shadow. Baroni knows what it is--and Olga Lermontof. Only +I--your wife--I know nothing." + +She paused, as though expecting some reply, but Max remained silent, +his arms folded across his chest, his head a little bent. + +"I was only a child when you married me, Max," she went on presently. +"I didn't realise what it meant for a husband to have some secret +business which he cannot tell his wife. But I know now what it means. +It's merely an excuse to be always with another woman--" + +In a stride Max was beside her, his eyes blazing, his hands gripping +her shoulders with a clasp that hurt her. + +"How dare you?" he exclaimed. "Unsay that--take it back? Do you hear?" + +She shrank a little, twisting in his grasp, but he held her +remorselessly. + +"No, I won't take it back. . . . Ah! Let me go, Max, you're hurting +me!" + +He released her instantly, and, as his hands fell away from her +shoulders, the white flesh reddened into bars where his fingers had +gripped her. His eyes rested for a moment on the angry-looking marks, +and then, with an inarticulate cry, he caught her to him, pressing his +lips against the bruised flesh, against her eyes, her mouth, crushing +her in his arms. + +She lay there passively; but her body stiffened a little, and her lips +remained quite still and unresponsive beneath his. + +"Diana! . . . Beloved! . . ." + +She thrust her hands against his chest. + +"Let me go," she whispered breathlessly, "Let me go. I can't bear you +to touch me." + +With a quick, determined movement she freed herself, and stood a little +away from him, panting. + +"Don't ever . . . do that . . . again. I--I can't bear you to touch me +. . . not now." + +She made a wavering step towards the door. He held it open for her, +and in silence she passed out and up the stairs. Presently, from the +landing above, he heard the lock of her bedroom door click into its +socket. . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +THE SHADOW FALLS + +Breakfast, the following morning, was something of an ordeal. Neither +Max nor Diana spoke to each other if speech could be avoided, and, when +this was impossible, they addressed each other with a frigid politeness +that was more painful than the silence. + +Jerry and Joan, sensing the antagonism in the atmosphere, endeavoured +to make conversation, but their efforts received scant encouragement, +and both were thankful when the meal came to an end, and they were free +to seek refuge in another room, leaving husband and wife alone together. + +Diana glanced a trifle nervously at her husband as the door closed +behind them. There was a coldness, an aloofness about him, that +reminded her vividly of the early days of their acquaintanceship, when +his cool indifference of manner had set a barrier between them which +her impulsive girlhood had been powerless to break through. + +"Will you spare me a few minutes in my study?" he said. His face was +perfectly impassive; only the peculiar brilliancy of his eyes spoke of +the white-hot anger he was holding in leash. + +Diana nodded silently. For a moment, bereft of words, she quailed +before the knowledge of that concentrated anger, but by the time they +had reached his study she had pulled herself together, and was ready to +face him with a high temper almost equal to his own. + +She had had the night for reflection, and the sense of bitter injustice +under which she was labouring had roused in her the same dogged, +unbending obstinacy which, in a much smaller way, had evinced itself +when Baroni had thrown the music at her and had subsequently bade her +pick it up. + +But now that sense of wild rebellion against injustice, against +personal injury, was magnified a thousandfold. For months she had been +drifting steadily apart from her husband, acutely conscious of that +secret thing in his life, and fiercely resentful of its imperceptible, +yet binding influence on all his actions. Again and again she had been +perplexed and mystified by certain incomprehensible things which she +had observed--for instance, the fact that, as she knew, part of Max's +correspondence was conducted in cipher; that at times he seemed quite +unaccountably worried and depressed; and, above all, that he was for +ever at the beck and call of Adrienne de Gervais. + +Gradually she had begun to connect the two things--Adrienne, and that +secret which dwelt like a shadowy menace at the back of everything. It +was clear, too, that they were also linked together in the minds both +of Baroni and Olga Lermontof--a dropped sentence here, a hint there, +had assured her of that. + +Then had come Olga's definite suggestion, "Adrienne de Gervais is a bad +friend for the man one loves!" And from that point onward Diana had +seen new meanings in all that passed between her husband and the +actress, and a blind jealousy had taken possession of her. Something +out of the past bound her husband and Adrienne together, of that she +felt convinced. She believed that the knowledge which Max had chosen +to withhold from her--his wife--he shared with Adrienne--and all +Diana's fierce young sense of possession rose up in opposition. + +Last night, the sight of her husband and the actress, standing together +on the stage, had seemed to her to epitomise their relative +positions--Max and Adrienne, working together, fully in each other's +confidence, whilst she herself was the outsider, only the onlooker in +the box! + +"Well?" she said, defiantly turning to her husband. "Well? What is it +you wish to say to me?" + +"I want an explanation of your conduct--last night." + +"And I," she retorted impetuously, "I want an explanation of your +conduct--ever since we've been married!" + +He swept her demand aside as though it were the irresponsible prattle +of a child, ignored it utterly. He was conscious of only one +thing--that she had barred herself away from him, humiliated him, dealt +their mutual love a blow beneath which it reeled. + +The bolted door itself counted for nothing. What mattered was that it +was she who had closed it, deliberately choosing to shut him outside +her life, and cutting every cord of love and trust and belief that +bound them together. + +An Englishman might have stormed or laughed, as the mood took him, and +comforted himself with the reflection that she would "get over it." +But not so Max. The sensitiveness which he hid from the world at +large, but which revealed itself in the lines of that fine-cut mouth of +his, winced under the humiliation she had put upon him. Love, in his +idea, was a thing so delicate, so rare, that Diana's crude handling of +the situation bore for him a far deeper meaning than the impulsive, +headlong action of the over-wrought girl had rightly held. To Max, it +signified the end--the denial of all the exquisite trust and +understanding which love should represent. If she could think for an +instant that he would have asked aught from her at a moment when they +were so far apart in spirit, then she had not understood the ideal +oneness of body and soul which love signified to him, and the knowledge +that she had actually sought to protect herself from him had hurt him +unbearably. + +"Last night," he said slowly, "you showed me that you have no trust, no +faith in me any longer." + +And Diana, misunderstanding, thinking of the secret which he would not +share with her, and impelled by the jealousy that obsessed her, replied +impetuously:-- + +"Yes, I meant to show you that. You refuse me your confidence, and +expect me to believe in you! You set me aside for Adrienne de Gervais, +and then you ask me to--_trust_ you? How can I? . . . I'm not a fool, +Max." + +"So it's that? The one thing over which I asked your faith?" The +limitless scorn in his voice lashed her. + +"You had no right to ask it!" she broke out bitterly. "Oh, you knew +what it would mean. I, I was too young to realise. I didn't think--I +didn't understand what a horrible thing a secret between husband and +wife might be. But I can't bear it--I can't bear it any longer! I +sometimes wonder," she added slowly, "if you ever loved me?" + +"If I ever loved you?" he repeated. "There has never been any other +woman in the world for me. There never will be." + +The utter, absolute conviction of his tones knocked at her heart, but +fear and jealousy were stronger than love. + +"Then prove it!" she retorted. "Take me into your confidence; put +Adrienne out of your life." + +"It isn't possible--not yet," he said wearily. "You're asking what I +cannot do." + +She took a step nearer. + +"Tell me this, then. What did Olga Lermontof mean when she bade me ask +your name? Oh!"--with a quick intake of her breath--"you _must_ answer +that, Max; you _must_ tell me that. I have a _right_ to know it!" + +For a moment he was silent, while she waited, eager-eyed, tremulously +appealing, for his answer. At last it came. + +"No," he said inflexibly. "You have no--right--to ask anything I +haven't chosen to tell you. When you gave me your love, you gave me +your faith, too. I warned you what it might mean--but you gave it. +And I"--his voice deepened--"I worshipped you for it! But I see now, I +asked too much of you. More"--cynically--"than any woman has to give." + +"Then--then"--her voice trembled--"you mean you won't tell me anything +more?" + +"I can't." + +"And--and Adrienne? Everything must go on just the same?" + +"Just the same"--implacably. + +She looked at him, curiously. + +"And you expect me still to feel the same towards you, I suppose? To +behave as though nothing had come between us?" + +For a moment his control gave way. + +"I expect nothing," he said hoarsely. "I shall never ask you for +anything again--neither love nor friendship. As you have decreed, so +it shall be!" + +Slowly, with bent head, Diana turned and left the room. + +So this was the end! She had made her appeal, risked everything on his +love for her--and lost. Adrienne de Gervais was stronger than she! + +Hereafter, she supposed, they would live as so many other husbands and +wives lived--outwardly good friends, but actually with all the +beautiful links of love and understanding shattered and broken. + + * * * * * * + +"Since the first night of the play they've hardly said a word to each +other--only when it's absolutely necessary." Joan spoke dejectedly, +her chin cupped in her hand. + +Jerry nodded. + +"I know," he agreed. "It's pretty awful." + +He and Joan were having tea alone together, cosily, by the library +fire. Diana had gone out to a singing-lesson, and Errington was shut +up in his study attending to certain letters, written in +cipher--letters which reached him frequently, bearing a foreign +postmark, and the answers to which he never by any chance dictated to +his secretary. + +"Surely they can't have quarrelled, just because he didn't come to the +theatre with us that night," pursued Joan. "Do you think Diana could +have been offended because he came down afterwards to please Miss +Gervais?" + +"Partly that. But it's a lot of things together, really. I've seen it +coming. Diana's been getting restive for some time. There are--Look +here! I don't wish to pry into what's not my business, but a fellow +can't live in a house without seeing things, and there's something in +Errington's life which Di knows nothing about. And it's that--just the +not knowing--which is coming between them." + +"Well, then, why on earth doesn't he tell her about it, whatever it is?" + +Jerry shrugged his shoulders. + +"Can't say. _I_ don't know what it is; it's not my business to know. +But his wife's another proposition altogether." + +"I suppose he expects her to trust him over it," said Joan thoughtfully. + +"That's about the size of it. And Diana isn't taking any." + +"I should trust him with anything in the world--a man with that face!" +observed Joan, after a pause. + +"There you go!" cried Jerry discontentedly. "There you go, with your +unfailing faith in the visible object. A man's got to _look_ a hero +before you think twice about him! Mark my words, Jo--many a saint's +face has hidden the heart of a devil." + +Joan surveyed him consideringly. + +"I've never observed that you have a saint's face, Jerry," she remarked +calmly. + +"Beast! Joan"--he made a dive for her hand, but she eluded him with +the skill of frequent practice--"how much longer are you going to keep +me on tenterhooks? You know I'm the prodigal son, and that I'm only +waiting for you to say 'yes,' to return to the family bosom--" + +"And you propose to use me as a stepping stone! I know. You think +that if you return as an engaged young man--" + +"With a good reference from my last situation," interpolated Jerry, +grinning. + +"Yes--that too, then your father will forget all your peccadilloes and +say, 'Bless you, my children'--" + +"Limelight on the blushing bur-ride! And they lived happily ever +after! Yes, that's it! Jolly good programme, isn't it?" + +And somehow Jerry's big boyish arm slipped itself round Joan's +shoulders--and Joan raised no objections. + +"But--about Max and Diana?" resumed Miss Stair after a judicious +interval. + +"Well, what about them?" + +"Can't we--can't we do anything? Talk to them?" + +"I just see myself talking to Errington!" murmured Jerry. "I'd about +as soon discuss its private and internal arrangements with a volcano! +My dear kid, it all depends upon Diana and whether she's content to +trust her husband or not. _I'd_ trust Max through thick and thin, and +no questions asked. If he blew up the Houses of Parliament, I should +believe he'd some good reason for doing it. . . . But then, I'm not +his wife!" + +"Well, I shall talk to Diana," said Joan seriously. "I'm sure Dad +would, if he were here. And I do think, Jerry, you might screw up +courage to speak to Max. He can't eat you! And--and I simply hate to +see those two at cross purposes! They were so happy at the beginning." + +The mention of matrimonial happiness started a new train of thought, +and the conversation became of a more personal nature--the kind of +conversation wherein every second or third sentence starts with "when +we are married," and thence launches out into rose-red visions of the +great adventure. + +Presently the house door clanged, and a minute later Diana came into +the room. She threw aside her furs and looked round hastily. + +"Where's Max?" she asked sharply. + +"Not concealed beneath the Chesterfield," volunteered Jerry flippantly. +Then, as he caught a hostile sparkle of irritation in her grey eyes, he +added hastily, "He's in his study." + +Diana nodded, and, without further remark, went away in search of her +husband. + +"Are you busy, Max?" she asked, pausing on the threshold of the room +where he was working. + +He rose at once, placing a chair for her with the chilly courtesy which +he had accorded her since their last interview in this same room. + +"Not too busy to attend to you," he replied. "Where will you sit? By +the fire?" + +Diana shook her head. She was a little flushed, and her eyes were +bright with some suppressed excitement, + +"No thanks," she replied. "I only came to tell you that I've been +having a talk with Baroni about my voice, and--and that I've decided to +begin singing again this winter--professionally, I mean. It seems a +pity to waste any more time." + +She spoke rapidly, and with a certain nervousness. + +For an instant a look of acute pain leaped into Errington's eyes, but +it was gone almost at once, and he turned to her composedly. + +"Is that the only reason, Diana?" he said. "The waste of time?" + +She was silent a moment, busying herself stripping off her gloves. +Presently she looked up, forcing herself to meet his gaze. + +"No," she said steadily. "It isn't." + +"May I know the--other reasons?" + +Her lip curled. + +"I should have thought they were obvious. Our marriage has been a +mistake. It's a failure. And I can't bear this life any longer. . . . +I must have something to do." + +CHAPTER XXI + +THE OTHER WOMAN + +Carlo Baroni's joy knew no bounds when he understood that Diana had +definitely decided to return to the concert platform. His first action +was to order her away for a complete change and rest, so she and Joan +obediently packed their trunks and departed to Switzerland, where they +forgot for a time the existence of such things as London fogs, either +real or figurative, and threw themselves heart and soul into the winter +sports that were going forward. + +The middle of February found them once more in England, and Joan rejoined +her father, while Diana went back to Lilac Lodge. She was greatly +relieved to discover that the break had simplified several problems and +made it much easier for her to meet her husband and begin life again on +fresh terms. Max, indeed, seemed to have accepted the new _regime_ with +that same mocking philosophy with which he invariably faced the problems +of life--and which so successfully cloaked his hurt from prying eyes. + +He was uniformly kind in his manner to his wife--with that light, +half-cynical kindness which he had accorded her in the train on their +first memorable journey together, and which effectually set them as far +apart from each other as though they stood at the opposite ends of the +earth. + +Unreasonably enough, Diana bitterly resented this attitude. Womanlike, +she made more than one attempt to re-open the matter over which they had +quarrelled, but each was skilfully turned aside, and the fact that after +his one rejected effort at reconciliation, Max had calmly accepted the +new order of things, added fuel to the jealous fire that burned within +her. She told herself that if he still cared for her, if he were not +utterly absorbed in Adrienne de Gervais, he would never have rested until +he had restored the old, happy relations between them. + +Instinctively she sought to dull the pain at her heart by plunging +headlong into professional life. Her voice, thanks to the rest and +change of her visit to Switzerland, had regained all its former beauty, +and her return to the concert platform was received with an outburst of +popular enthusiasm. The newspapers devoted half a column apiece to the +subject, and several of them prophesied that it was in grand opera that +Madame Diana Quentin would eventually find the setting best suited to her +gifts. + +"Mere concert work"--wrote one critic--"will never give her the scope +which both her temperament and her marvellous voice demand." + +And with this opinion Baroni cordially concurred. It was his ultimate +ambition for Diana that she should study for grand opera, and she +herself, only too thankful to find something that would occupy her +thoughts and take her right out of herself, as it were, enabling her to +forget the overthrow of her happiness, flung herself into the work with +enthusiasm. + +Gradually, as time passed on, her bitter feelings towards Max softened a +little. That light, half-ironical manner he had assumed brought back to +her so vividly the Max Errington of the early days of their acquaintance +that it recalled, too, a measure of the odd attraction he had held for +her in that far-away time. + +That he still visited Adrienne very frequently she was aware, but often, +on his return from Somervell Street, he seemed so much depressed that she +began at last to wonder whether those visits were really productive of +any actual enjoyment. Possibly she had misjudged them--her husband and +her friend--and it might conceivably be really only business matters +which bound them together after all. + +If so--if that were true--how wantonly she had flung away her happiness! + +Late one afternoon, Max, who had been out since early morning, came in +looking thoroughly worn out. His eyes, ringed with fatigue, held an +alert look of strain and anxiety for which Diana was at a loss to account. + +She was at the piano when he entered the room, idly trying over some MS. +songs that had been submitted by aspiring composers anxious to secure her +interest. + +"Why, Max," she exclaimed, genuine concern in her voice, as she rose from +the piano. "How worried you look! What is the matter?" + +"Nothing," he returned. "At least, nothing in which you can help," he +added hastily. "Unless--" + +"Unless what? Please . . . let me help . . . if I can." Diana spoke +rather nervously. She was suddenly struck by the fact that the last few +months had been responsible for a great change in her husband's +appearance. He looked much thinner and older than formerly, she thought. +There were harassed lines in his face, and its worn contours and shadowed +eyes called aloud to the compassionate womanhood within her, to the +mother-instinct that involuntarily longs to heal and soothe. + +"Tell me what I can do, Max?" + +A smile curved his lips, half whimsical, half sad. + +"You can do for me what you do for all the rest of the world--I won't ask +more of you," he replied. "Sing to me." + +Diana coloured warmly. The first part of his speech stung her unbearably. + +"Sing to you?" she repeated. + +"Yes. I'm very tired, and nothing is more restful than music." Then, as +she hesitated, he added, "Unless, of course, I'm asking too much." + +"You know you are not," she answered swiftly. + +She resumed her place at the piano, and, while he lay back in his chair +with closed eyes, she sang to him--the music of the old masters who loved +melody, and into whose songs the bitterness and unrest of the twentieth +century had not crept. + +Presently, she thought, he slept, and very softly her hands strayed into +the simple, sorrowful music of "The Haven of Memory," and a note of +wistful appeal, not all of art, added a new depth to the exquisite voice. + + How once your love + But crowned and blessed me only, + Long and long ago. + +The refrain died into silence, and Diana, looking up, found Max's +piercing blue eyes fixed upon her. He was not asleep, then, after all. + +He smiled slightly as their glances met. + +"Do you remember I once told you I thought 'The Hell of Memory' would be +a more appropriate title? . . . I was quite right." + +"Max--" Diana's voice quavered and broke. + +A sudden eager light sprang into his face. Swiftly he same to her side +and stood looking down at her. + +"Diana," he said tensely, "must it always remain--the hell of memory?" + +They were very near to each other in that moment; the great wall +fashioned of jealousy and distrust was tottering to its foundations. + +And then, from the street below came the high-pitched, raucous sound of +the newsboy's voice:-- + +"_Attempted Murder of Miss Adrian Jervis! Premier Theatre Besieged._" + +The words, with their deadly import, cut between husband and wife like a +sword. + +"Good God!" The exclamation burst from Max with a cry of horror. In an +instant he was out of the room, down the stairs, and running bareheaded +along the street in pursuit of the newsboy, and a few seconds later he +was back with a newspaper, damp from the press, in his hands. + +Diana had remained sitting just as he had left her. She felt numbed. +The look of dread and consternation that had leaped into her husband's +face, as the news came shrilling up from the street below, had told her, +more eloquently than any words could do, how absolutely his life was +bound up in that of Adrienne de Gervais. A man whose heart's desire has +been suddenly snatched from him might look so; no other. + +Max, oblivious of everything else, was reading the brief newspaper +account at lightning speed. At last-- + +"I must go!" he said. "I must go round to Somervell Street at once." + +When he had gone, Diana picked up the newspaper from the floor where he +had tossed it, and smoothing out its crumpled sheet, proceeded to read +the short paragraph, surmounted by staring head-lines, which had sent her +husband hurrying hot-foot to Adrienne's house. + + +"MURDEROUS ATTACK ON MISS ADRIENNE DE GERVAIS. + +"As Miss Adrienne de Gervais, the popular actress, was leaving the +Premier Theatre after the matinee performance to-day, a man rushed out +from a side street and fired three shots at her, wounding her severely. +Miss de Gervais was carried into the theatre, where a doctor who chanced +to be passing rendered first aid. Within a very few minutes the news of +the outrage became known and the theatre was besieged by inquirers. The +would-be assassin, who made good his escape, was a man of unmistakably +foreign appearance." + + +Diana laid the paper down very quietly. This, then, was the news which +had power to bring that look of fear and dread to her husband's +face--which could instantly wipe out from his mind all thoughts of his +wife and of everything that concerned her. + +Perhaps, she reflected scornfully, it was as well that the revelation had +come when it did! Otherwise--otherwise, she had been almost on the verge +of forgetting her just cause for jealousy, forgetting all the past months +of misery, and believing in her husband once again. + +The trill of the telephone from below checked her bitter thoughts, and +hurrying downstairs into the hall, she lifted the receiver and held it to +her ear. + +"Yes. Who is it?" + +Possibly something was wrong with the wire, or perhaps it was only that +Diana's voice, particularly deep and low-pitched for a woman, misled the +speaker at the other end. Whatever it may have been, Adrienne's voice, +rather tremulous and shaky, came through the 'phone, and she was +obviously under the impression that she was speaking to Diana's husband. + +"Oh, is that you, Max? Don't be frightened. I'm not badly hurt. I hear +it's already in the papers, and as I knew you'd be nearly mad with +anxiety, I've made the doctor let me 'phone you myself. Of course you +can guess who did it. It was not the man you caught waiting about +outside the theatre. It was the taller one of the two we saw at Charing +Cross that day. Please come round as soon as you can." + +Diana's lips set in a straight line. Very deliberately she replaced the +receiver and rang off without reply. A small, fine smile curved her lips +as she reflected that, within a few minutes, Max's arrival at Somervell +Street would enlighten Miss de Gervais as to the fact that she had bean +pouring out her reassuring remarks to the wrong person. + +Half an hour later Diana came slowly downstairs, dressed for dinner. +Jerry was waiting for her in the hall. + +"There's a 'phone message just come through from Max," he said, a trifle +awkwardly. (Jerry had not lived through the past few months at Lilac +Lodge without realising the terms on which the Erringtons stood with each +other.) "He won't be back till late." + +Diana bestowed her sweetest smile upon him. + +"Then we shall be dining _tete-a-tete_. How nice! Come along." + +She took his arm and they went in together. + +"This is a very serious thing about Miss de Gervais, isn't it?" she said +conversationally, as they sat down. + +"A dastardly business," assented Jerry, with indignation. + +"I suppose--did Max give you any further particulars?" + +"The bullet's broken her arm just above the elbow. Of course she won't +be able to play for some time to come." + +"How her understudy must be rejoicing," murmured Diana reflectively. + +"It seems," pursued Jerry, "that the shot was fired by some shady actor +fellow. Down on his luck, you know, and jealous of Miss de Gervais' +success. At least, that's what they suspect, and Max has 'phoned me to +send a paragraph to all the morning papers to that effect." + +"That's very curious," commented Diana. + +"Why? I should think it's a jolly good guess." + +Diana smiled enigmatically. + +"Anyhow, it sounds a very natural supposition," she agreed lightly, and +then switched the conversation on to other subjects. Jerry, however, +seemed rather absent and distrait, and presently, when at last the +servants had handed the coffee and withdrawn, he blurted out:-- + +"It sounds beastly selfish of me, but this affair has upset my own little +plans rather badly." + +"Yours, Jerry?" said Diana kindly. "How's that? Give me a cigarette and +tell me what's gone wrong." + +"What would Baroni say to your smoking?" queried Jerry, as he tendered +his case and held a match for her to light her cigarette. + +"I'm not singing anywhere for a week," laughed Diana. "So this orgy is +quite legitimate." And she inhaled luxuriously. "Now, go on, Jerry, +what plans of yours have been upset?" + +"Well"--Jerry reddened--"I wrote to my governor the other day. It--it +was to please Joan, you know." + +Diana nodded, her grey eyes dancing. + +"Of course," she said gravely, "I quite understand." + +"And--and here's his answer!" + +He opened his pocket-book, and extracting a letter from the bundle it +contained, handed it to Diana. + +"You mean you want me to read this?" + +"Please." + +Diana unfolded it, and read the following terse communication:-- + + +"Come home and bring the lady. Am fattening the calf.--Your affectionate +Father." + + +"Jerry, I should adore your father," said Diana, as she gave him back the +letter. "He must he a perfect gem amongst parents." + +"He's not a bad old chap," acknowledged Jerry, as he replaced the +paternal invitation in his pocket-book. "But you see the difficulty? I +was going to ask Errington to give me a few days' leave, and I don't like +to bother him now that he has all this worry about Miss de Gervais on his +hands." + +Diana flushed hotly at Jerry's tacit acceptance of the fact that +Adrienne's affairs were naturally of so much moment to her husband. It +was another pin-prick in the wound that had been festering for so long. +She ignored it, however, and answered quietly:-- + +"Yes, I see. Perhaps you had better leave it for a few days. What about +Pobs? He'll have to be consulted in the matter, won't he?" + +"I told him, long ago, that I wanted Joan. Before"--with a grin--"I ever +summoned up pluck to tell Joan herself! He was a brick about it, but he +thought I ought to make it up with the governor before Joan and I were +formally engaged. So I did--and I'm jolly glad of it. And now I want to +go down to Crailing, and fetch Joan, and take her with me to Abbotsleigh. +So I should want at least a week off." + +"Well, wait till Max comes back," advised Diana, "We shall know more +about the matter then. And--and--Jerry!" She stretched out her hand, +which immediately disappeared within Jerry's big, boyish fist. "Good +luck, old boy!" + + * * * * * * + +Max returned at about ten o'clock, and Diana proceeded to offer polite +inquiries about Miss de Gervais' welfare. She wondered if he would +remember how near they had been to each other just for an instant before +the news of the attempt upon Adrienne's life had reached them. + +But apparently he had forgotten all about it. His thoughts were entirely +concerned with Adrienne, and he was unusually grave and preoccupied. + +He ordered a servant to bring him some sandwiches and a glass of wine, +and when he and Diana were once more alone, be announced abruptly:-- + +"I shall have to leave home for a few days." + +"Leave home?" echoed Diana. + +"Yes. Adrienne must go out of town, and I'm going to run down to some +little country place and find rooms for her and Mrs. Adams." + +"Find rooms?" Diana stared at him amazedly. "But surely--won't they go +to Red Gables?" + +Max shook his head. + +"No. It wouldn't be safe after this--this affair. The same brute might +try to get her again. You see, it's quite well known that she has a +house at Crailing." + +"Who is it that is such an enemy of hers?" + +Max hesitated a moment. + +"It might very well be some former actor, some poor devil of a fellow +down on his luck, who has brooded over his fancied wrongs till he was +half-mad," he said, at length. + +Diana's eyes flashed. So that item of news intended for the morning +papers was also to be handed out for home consumption! + +"What steps are you taking to trace the man?" + +Again Max paused before replying. To Diana, his hesitation strengthened +her conviction that he was, as usual, withholding something from her. + +"Well?" she repeated. "What steps are you taking?" + +"None," he answered at last reluctantly. "Adrienne doesn't wish any fuss +made over the matter." + +And yet, Diana reflected, both her husband and Miss de Gervais knew quite +well who the assailant was! "The taller of the two," Adrienne had said +through the telephone. Why, then, with that clue in her hands, did she +refuse to prosecute? + +Suddenly, into Diana's mind flashed an answer to the question--to the +multitude of questions which had perplexed, her for so long. She felt as +a traveller may who has been journeying along an unknown way in the dark, +hurt and bruised by stones and pitfalls he could not see, when suddenly a +light shines out, revealing all the dangers of the path. + +The explanation of all those perplexities and suspicions of the past was +so simple, so obvious, that she marvelled why it had never occurred to +her before. Adrienne de Gervais was neither more or less than an +adventuress--one of the vampire type of woman who preys upon mankind, +drawing them into her net by her beauty and charm, even as she had drawn +Max himself! This, this supplied the key to the whole matter--all that +had gone before, and all that was now making such a mockery of her +married life. + +And the "poor devil of a fellow" who had attempted Adrienne's life had +probably figured largely in her past, one of her dupes, and now, +understanding at last what kind of woman it was for whom he had very +likely sacrificed all that made existence worth while, he was obsessed +with a crazy desire for vengeance--vengeance at any price. And Adrienne, +of course, in her extremity, had turned to her latest captive, Max +himself, for protection! + +Oh! it was all quite clear now! The scattered pieces of the puzzle were +fitting together and making a definite picture. + +Stray remarks of Olga Lermontof's came back to her--those little pointed +arrows wherewith the Russian had skilfully found out the joints in her +armour--"Miss de Gervais is not quite what she seems." And again, "I'm +perfectly sure Adrienne de Gervais' past is a closed book to you." Proof +positive that Olga had known all along what Diana had only just this +moment perceived to be the truth. + +Diana's small hands clenched themselves until the nails dug into the soft +palms, as she remembered how those same hands had been held out in +friendship to this very adventuress--to the woman who had wrecked her +happiness, and for whom Max was ready at any time to set her and her +wishes upon one side! What a blind, trusting fool she had been! Well, +that was all ended now; she knew where she stood. Never again would Max +or Adrienne be able to deceive her. The scales had at last fallen from +her eyes. + +"I'm sorry, Diana"--Max's cool, quiet tones broke in on the torment of +her thoughts. "I'm sorry, but I shall probably have to be away several +days." + +"Have you forgotten we're giving a big reception here next Wednesday?" + +"Wednesday, is it? And to-day is Saturday. I shall find rooms somewhere +to-morrow, and take Adrienne and Mrs. Adams down to them the next +day. . . No, I can't possibly be back for Wednesday." + +"But you must!"--impetuously. + +"It's impossible. I shall stay with Adrienne and Mrs. Adams until I'm +quite sure that the place is safe for them--that that fellow hasn't +traced them and isn't lurking about in the neighbourhood. You mustn't +expect me back before Saturday at the earliest. You and Jerry can manage +the reception. I hate those big crowds, as you know." + +For a moment Diana sat in stony silence. So he intended to leave her to +entertain half London--that half of London that mattered and would talk +about it--while he spent a pleasant week philandering down in the country +with Adrienne de Gervais, under the aegis of Mrs. Adams' chaperonage! + +Very slowly Diana rose to her feet. Her small face was white and set, +her little pointed chin thrust out, and her grey eyes were almost black +with the intense anger that gripped her. + +"Do you mean this?" she asked collectedly. + +"Why, of course. Don't you see that I must, Diana? I can't let Adrienne +run a risk like that." + +"But you can subject your wife to an insult like that without thinking +twice about it!"--contemptuously. "It hasn't occurred to you, I suppose, +what people will say when they find that I have been left entirely alone +to entertain our friends, while my husband passes a pleasant week in the +country with Miss de Gervais, and her--chaperon? It's an insult to our +guests as well as to me. But I quite understand. I, and my friends, +simply _don't count_ when Adrienne de Gervais wants you." + +"I can't help it," he answered stubbornly, her scorn moving him less than +the waves that break in a shower of foam at the foot of a cliff. "You +knew you would have to trust me." + +"_Trust you_?" cried Diana, shaken out of her composure. "Yes! But I +never promised to stand trustingly by while you put another woman in my +place. This is the end, Max. I've had enough." + +A sudden look of apprehension dawned in his eyes. + +"What do you mean?" he asked sharply. + +"What do I mean?"--bleakly. "Oh, nothing. I never do mean anything, do +I? . . . Well, good-bye. I expect you'll have left the house before I +come down to-morrow morning. I hope . . . you'll enjoy your visit to the +country." + +She waited a moment, as though expecting some reply; then, as he neither +stirred nor spoke, she went quickly out of the room, closing the door +behind her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE PARTING OF THE WAYS + +"Jerry"--Diana came into her husband's study, where his secretary, who +had nothing further to do until his employer's return, was pottering +about putting the bookshelves to rights, "Jerry, I'm going to give you a +holiday. You can go down to Crailing to-day." + +Jerry turned round in surprise. + +"But, I say, Diana, I can't, you know--not while Max is away. I'm +supposed to make myself useful to you." + +"Well, I think you did make yourself--very useful--last night, didn't +you?" + +"Oh, that!" Jerry shrugged his shoulders. Then, surveying her +critically, he added: "You look awfully tired this morning, Di!" + +She did. There were purple shadows beneath her eyes, and her face looked +white and drawn. The previous evening had been the occasion of her +reception, and she had carried it pluckily through single-handed. Quiet +and composed, she had moved about amongst her guests, covering Max's +absence with a light touch and pretty apology, her demeanour so natural +and unembarrassed that the tongues, which would otherwise have wagged +swiftly enough, were inevitably stilled. + +But the strain had told upon her. This morning she looked haggard and +ill, more fit to be in bed than anything else. + +"Oh, I shall be all right after a night's rest," she answered cheerfully. +"And as to making yourself useful there's really nothing I want you to do +for me. But I _do_ want you to go and make your peace with your father, +and take Joan to him. I'm sure he'll love her! So I'm writing to Max +telling him that I've given you leave of absence. He won't be returning +till Saturday at the earliest, and probably not then. If he wants you +back on Monday, we'll wire." + +Jerry hesitated. + +"Are you sure it will be quite all right? I don't really like leaving +you." + +"Quite all right," she assured him. "I _did_ want you for the party last +night, and you were the greatest possible help to me. But now, I don't +want you a bit for anything. If you're quick, you can catch the two +o'clock down express and"--twinkling--"see Joan this evening." + +"Diana, you're a brick!" And Jerry dashed upstairs to pack his suit-case. + +Diana heaved a sigh of relief when, a few hours later, a triumphant and +joyous Jerry departed in search of a bride. She wanted him out of the +house, for that which she had decided to do would be more easily +accomplished without the boy's honest, affectionate eyes beseeching her. + +All her arrangements were completed, and to-morrow--to-morrow she was +going to leave Lilac Lodge for ever. Never again would she share the +life of the man who had shown her clearly that, although she was his +wife, she counted with him so infinitely less than that other--than +Adrienne de Gervais. Her pride might break in the leaving, but it would +bend to living under the same roof with him no longer. + +Only one thing still remained--to write a letter to her husband and leave +it in his study for him to find upon his return. It savoured a little of +the theatrical, she reflected, but there seemed no other way possible. +She didn't want Max to come in search of her, so she must make it clear +to him that she was leaving him deliberately and with no intention of +ever returning. + +She had told the servants that she was going away on a few days' visit, +and after Jerry's departure she gave her maid instructions concerning her +packing. She intended to leave the house quite openly the following +morning. That was much the easiest method of running away. + +"Shall you require me with you, madam?" asked her maid respectfully. + +Diana regarded her thoughtfully. She was an excellent servant and +thoroughly understood maiding a professional singer; moreover, she was +much attached to her mistress. Probably she would be glad of her +services later on. + +"Oh, if I should make a long stay, I'll send for you, Milling, and you +can bring on the rest of my things. I shall want some of my concert +gowns the week after next," she told her, in casual tones. + +As soon as she had dismissed the girl to her work, Diana made her way +into her husband's study, and, seating herself at his desk, drew a sheet +of notepaper towards her. + +She began to write impulsively, as she did everything else:-- + + +"This is just to say good-bye,"--her pen flew over the paper--"I can't +bear our life together any longer, so I'm going away. Perhaps you will +blame me because my faith wasn't equal to the task you set it. But I +don't think any woman's would be--not if she cared at all. And I did +care, Max. It hurts to care as I did--and I'm so tired of being hurt +that I'm running away from it. It will be of no use your asking me to +return, because I have made up my mind never to come back to you again. +I told you that you must choose between Adrienne and me, and you've +chosen--Adrienne. I am going to live with Baroni and his sister, Signora +Evanci. It is all arranged. They are glad to have me, and it will be +much easier for me as regards my singing. So you needn't worry about +me.--But perhaps, you wouldn't have done! + +"DIANA. + +"P.S.--Please don't be vexed with Jerry for going away. I gave him leave +of absence myself, and I told him I would make it all right with you.--D." + +She folded the letter with a curious kind of precision, slipped it into +an envelope, sealed and addressed it, and propped it up against the +inkpot on her husband's desk, so that he could not fail to find it. + +Then, when it was time to dress for dinner, she went upstairs and let her +maid put her into an evening frock, exactly as though nothing out of the +ordinary were going on, just as though to-day--the last day she would +ever spend in her husband's home--were no different from any other day. + +She made a pretence of eating dinner, and afterwards sat in her own +little sitting-room, with a book in front of her, of which she read not a +single line. + +Presently, when she was quite sure that all the servants had gone to bed, +she made a pilgrimage through the house, moving reluctantly from room to +room, taking a silent farewell of the place where she had known such +happiness--and afterwards, such pain. + +At last she went to bed, but she felt too restless and keyed up to sleep, +so she slipped into a soft, silken wrapper and established herself in a +big easy-chair by the fire. + +The latter had died down into a dull, red glow, but she prodded the +embers into a flame, adding fresh coal, and as the pleasant warmth of it +lapped her round, a feeling of gentle languor gradually stole over her, +and at length she slept. . . . + +She woke with a start. Some one was trying the handle of the door--very +quietly, but yet not at all as though making any attempt to conceal the +fact. + +Something must be amiss, and one of the maids had come to warn her. The +possibility that the house was on fire, or that burglars had broken in, +flashed through her mind. + +She sprang to her feet, and switching on the light, called out sharply:-- + +"Who is it?" + +She had not fastened the lock overnight, and her heart beat in great +suffocating throbs as she watched the handle turn. + +The next moment some one came quickly into the room and closed the door. + +It was Max! + +Diana fell back a step, staring incredulously. + +"_You_!" she exclaimed, breathlessly. "_You_!" + +He advanced a few paces into the room. He was very pale, and his face +wore a curiously excited expression. His eyes were brilliant--fiercely +exultant, yet with an odd gleam of the old, familiar mockery in their +depths, as though something in the situation amused him. + +"Yes," he said. "Are you surprised to see me?" + +"You--you said you were not returning till Saturday," she stammered. + +"I found I could get away sooner than I expected, so I caught the last +up-train--and here I am." + +There was a rakish, devil-may-care note in his voice that filled her with +a vague apprehension. Summoning up her courage, she faced him, striving +to keep her voice steady. + +"And why--why have you come to me--now?" + +"I found your note--the note you had left on my desk, so I thought I +would like to say good-bye," he answered carelessly. + +"You could have waited till to-morrow morning," she returned coldly. +"You--you"--she stammered a little, and a faint flush tinged her +pallor--"you should not have come . . . here." + +A sudden light gleamed in his eyes, mocking and triumphant. + +"It is my wife's room. A husband"--slowly--"has certain rights." + +"Ah-h!" She caught her breath, and her hand flew her throat. + +"And since," he continued cruelly, never taking his eye from her face, +"since those rights are to be rescinded to-morrow for ever--why, then, +to-night--" + +"No! . . . No!" She shrank from him, her hands stretched out as though +to ward him off. + +"You've said 'no' to me for the last six months," he said grimly. +"But--that's ended now." + +Her eyes searched his face wildly, reading only a set determination in +it. Slowly, desperately, she backed away from him; then, suddenly, she +made a little rush, and, reaching the door, pulled at the handle. But it +remained fast shut. + +"_It's locked_!" she cried, frantically tugging at it. She flashed round +upon him. "The key! Where's the key?" + +The words came sobbingly. + +He put his fingers in his pocket. + +"Here," he answered coolly. + +Despairingly she retreated from the door. There was an expression in his +eyes that terrified her--a furnace heat of passion barely held in check. +The Englishman within him was in abeyance; the hot, foreign blood was +leaping in his veins. + +"Max!" she faltered appealingly. + +He crossed swiftly to her side, gripping her soft, bare arms in a hold so +fierce that his fingers scored them with red weals. + +"By God, Diana! What do you think I'm made of?" he burst out violently. +"For months you've shut yourself away from me and I've borne it, +waiting--waiting always for you to come back to me. Do you think it's +been easy?" His limbs were shaking, and his eyes burned into hers. "And +now--now you tell me that you've done with me. . . You take everything +from me! My love is to count for nothing!" + +"You never loved me!" she protested, with low, breathless vehemence. +"It--it could never have been love." + +For a moment he was silent, staring at her. + +Then he laughed. + +"Very well. Call it desire, passion--what you will!" he exclaimed +brutally. "But--you married me, you know!" + +She cowered away from him, looking to right and left like a trapped +animal seeking to escape, but he held her ruthlessly, forcing her to face +him. + +All at once, her nerve gave way, and she began to cry--helpless, +despairing weeping that rocked the slight form in his grasp. As she +stood thus, the soft silk of her wrapper falling in straight folds about +her; her loosened hair shadowing her white face, she looked pathetically +small and young, and Errington suddenly relinquished his hold of her and +stepped back, his hands slowly clenching in the effort not to take her in +his arms. + +Something tugged at his heart, pulling against the desire that ran riot +in his veins--something of the infinite tenderness of love which exists +side by side with its passion. + +"Don't look like that," he said hoarsely. "I'll--I'll go." + +He crossed the room, reeling a little in his stride, and, unlocking the +door, flung it open. + +She stared at him, incredulous relief in her face, while the tears still +slid unchecked down her cheeks. + +"Max--" she stammered. + +"Yes," he returned. "You're free of me. I don't suppose you'll believe +it, but I love you too much to . . . take . . . what you won't give." + +A minute later the door closed behind him and she heard his footsteps +descending the stairs. + +With a low moan she sank down beside the bed, her face hidden in her +hands, sobbing convulsively. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +PAIN + +Summer had come and gone, and Diana, after a brief visit to Crailing, +had returned to town for the winter season. + +The Crailing visit had not been altogether without its embarrassments. +It was true that Red Gables was closed and shuttered, so that she had +run no risk of meeting either her husband or Adrienne, but Jerry, in +the character of an engaged young man, had been staying at the Rectory, +and he had allowed Diana to see plainly that his sympathies lay +pre-eminently with Max, and that he utterly condemned her lack of faith +in her husband. + +"Some day, Diana, you'll be sorry that you chucked one of the best +chaps in the world," he told her, with a fierce young championship that +was rather touching, warring, as it did, with his honest affection for +Diana herself. "Oh! It makes me sick! You two ought to have had such +a splendid life together." + +Rather wistfully, Diana asked the Rector if he, too, blamed her +entirely for what had occurred. But Alan Stair's wide charity held no +room for censure. + +"My dear," he told her, "I don't think I want to _blame_ either you or +Max. The situation was difficult, and you weren't quite strong enough +to cope with it. That's all. But"--with one of his rare smiles that +flashed out like sunshine after rain--"you haven't reached the end of +the chapter yet." + +Diana shook her head. + +"I think we have, Pobs. I, for one, shall never reopen the pages. My +musical work is going to fill my life in future." + +Stair's eyes twinkled with a quiet humour. + +"Sponge cake is filling, my dear, very," he responded. "But it's not +satisfying--like bread." + + +Since Diana had left her husband, fate had so willed it that they had +never chanced to meet. She had appeared very little in society, +excusing herself on the plea that her professional engagements demanded +all her energies. And certainly, since the immediate and overwhelming +success which she had achieved at Covent Garden, her operatic work had +made immense demands both upon her time and physical strength. + +But, with the advent of autumn, the probabilities of a meeting between +husband and wife were increased a hundredfold, since Diana's +engagements included a considerable number of private receptions in +addition to her concert work, and she never sang at a big society crush +without an inward apprehension that she might encounter Max amongst the +guests. + +She shrank from meeting him again as a wounded man shrinks from an +accidental touch upon his hurt. It had been easy enough, in the first +intolerant passion which had overwhelmed her, to contemplate life apart +from him. Indeed, to leave him had seemed the only obvious course to +save her from the daily flagellation of her love, the hourly insult to +her dignity, that his relations with Adrienne de Gervais and the whole +mystery which hung about his actions had engendered. + +But when once the cord had been cut, and life in its actuality had to +be faced apart from him, Diana found that love, hurt and buffeted +though it may be, still remains love, a thing of flame and fire, its +very essence a desire for the loved one's presence. + +Every fibre of her being cried aloud for Max, and there were times when +the longing for the warm, human touch of his hand, for the sound of his +voice, grew almost unbearable. Yet any meeting between them could be +but a barren reminder of the past, revitalising the dull ache of +longing into a quick and overmastering agony, and, realising this, +Diana recoiled from the possibility with a fear almost bordering upon +panic. + +She achieved a certain feeling of security in the fact that she had +made her home with Baroni and his sister. Signora Evanci mothered her +and petted her and fussed over her, much as she did over Baroni +himself, and the old _maestro_, aware of the tangle of Diana's +matrimonial affairs, and ambitious for her artistic future, was likely +to do his utmost to avert a meeting between husband and wife--since +emotional crises are apt to impair the voice. + +From Baroni's point of view, the happenings of life were chiefly of +importance in so far as they tended towards the perfecting of the +artiste. + +"Love is good," he had said on one occasion. "No one can interpret +romantic music who has not loved. And a broken heart in the past, and +plenty of good food in the present--these may very well make a great +artiste. But a heart that _keeps on_ breaking, that is not permitted +to heal itself--no, that is not good. _A la fin_, the voice breaks +also." + +Hence he regarded his favourite pupil with considerable anxiety. To +his experienced eye it was palpable that the happenings of her married +life had tried Diana's strength almost to breaking point, and that the +enthusiasm and energy with which, seeking an anodyne to pain, she had +flung herself into her work, would act either one way or the +other--would either finish the job, so that the frayed nerves gave way, +culminating in a serious breakdown of her health, or so fill her +horizon that the memories of the past gradually receded into +insignificance. + +The cup of fame, newly held to her lips, could not but prove an +intoxicating draught. There was a rushing excitement, an exhilaration +about her life as a well-known public singer, which acted as a constant +stimulus. The enthusiastic acclamations with which she was everywhere +received, the adulation that invariably surrounded her, and the intense +joy which, as a genuine artist, she derived from the work itself, all +acted as a narcotic to the pain of memory, and out of these she tried +to build up a new life for herself, a life in which love should have +neither part nor lot, but wherein added fame and recognition was to be +the ultimate goal. + +Her singing had improved; there was a new depth of feeling in her +interpretation which her own pain and suffering had taught her, and it +was no infrequent thing for part of her audience to be moved to tears, +wistfully reminded of some long-dead romance, when she sang "The Haven +of Memory"--a song which came to be associated with her name much in +the same way that "Home, Sweet Home" was associated with another great +singer, whose golden voice gave new meaning to the familiar words. + +Olga Lermontof still remained her accompanist. For some unfathomed +reason she no longer flung out the bitter gibes and thrusts at +Errington which had formerly sprung so readily to her lips, and Diana +grimly ascribed this forbearance to an odd kind of delicacy--the +generosity of the victor who refuses to triumph openly over the +vanquished! + +Once, in a bitter mood, Diana had taxed her with it. + +"You must feel satisfied now that you have achieved your object," she +told her. + +The Russian, idly improvising on the piano, dropped her hands from the +keys, and her eyes held a queer kind of pain in them as she made answer. + +"And what exactly did you think my object was?" she queried. + +"Surely it was obvious?" replied Diana lightly. "When Max and I were +together, you never ceased to sow discord between us--though why you +hated him so, I cannot tell--and now that we have separated, I suppose +you are content." + +"Content?" Olga laughed shortly. "I never wanted you to separate. +And"--she hesitated--"I never hated Max Errington." + +"I don't believe it!" The assertion leaped involuntarily from Diana's +lips. + +"I can understand that," Olga spoke with a curious kind of patience. +"But, believe it or not as you will, I was working for quite other +ends. And I've failed," she added dispiritedly. + +With the opening of the autumn season and the ensuing rebirth of +musical and theatrical life, London received an unexpected shock. It +was announced that Adrienne de Gervais was retiring from her position +as leading lady at the Premier Theatre, and for a few days after the +launching of this thunderbolt the theatre-going world hummed with the +startling news, while a dozen rumours were set on foot to account for +what must surely prove little less than a disaster to the management of +the Premier. + +But, as usual, after the first buzz of surprise and excitement had +spent itself, people settled down, and reluctantly accepted the +official explanation furnished by the newspapers--namely, that the +popular actress had suffered considerably in health from the strain of +several successive heavy seasons and intended to winter abroad. + +To Diana the news yielded an odd sense of comfort. Somehow the thought +of Adrienne's absence from England seemed to bring Max nearer, to make +him more her own again. Even though they were separated, there was a +certain consolation in the knowledge that the woman whose close +friendship with her husband had helped to make shipwreck of their +happiness was going out of his life, though it might be only for a +little time. + +One day, impelled by an irresistible desire to test the truth of the +newspaper reports, Diana took her way to Somervell Street, pausing +opposite the house that had been Adrienne's. She found it invested +with a curious air of unfamiliarity, facing the street with blank and +shuttered windows, like blind eyes staring back at her unrecognisingly. + +So it was true! Adrienne had gone away and the house was empty and +closed. + +Diana retraced her steps homeward, conscious of a queer feeling of +satisfaction. Often the thought that Max and Adrienne might be +together had tortured her almost beyond endurance, adding a keener edge +to the pain of separation. + +Pain! Life seemed made up of pain these days. Sometimes she wondered +how much a single human being was capable of bearing. + +It was months--an eternity--since she and Max had parted, and still her +heart cried out for him, fighting the bitter anger and distrust that +had driven her from him. + +She felt she could have borne it more easily had he died. Then the +remembrance of his love would still have been hers to hold and keep, +something most precious and unspoilt. But now, each memory of their +life together was tarnished with doubt and suspicion and mistrust. She +had put him to the test, bade him choose betwixt her and Adrienne, +claiming his confidence as her right--and he had chosen Adrienne and +declined to trust her with his secret. + +She told herself that had he loved her, he must have yielded. No man +who cared could have refused her, and the scourge of wounded pride +drove her into that outer darkness where bitterness and "proper +self-respect" defile the face of Love. + +She had turned desperately to her work for distraction from the +ceaseless torture of her thoughts, but not all the work in the world +had been able to silence the cry of her heart. + +For work can do no more than fill the day, and though Diana feverishly +crammed each day so full that there was little time to think and +remember, the nights remained--the interminable nights, when she was +alone with her own soul, and when the memories which the day's work had +beaten back came pressing in upon her. + +Oh, God! The nights--the endless, intolerable nights! . . . + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE VISION OF LOVE + +A week after her visit to Somervell Street, the thing which Diana had +dreaded came to pass. + +She was attending a reception at the French Embassy, and as she made +her way through the crowded rooms, followed by Olga Lermontof--who +frequently added to the duties of accompanist those of _dame de +compagnie_ to the great _prima donna_--she came suddenly face to face +with Max. + +To many of us the anticipation of an unpleasant happening is far more +agonising than the actual thing itself. The mind, brooding +apprehensively upon what may conceivably occur, exaggerates the +possibilities of the situation, enhancing all the disagreeable details, +and oblivious of any mitigating circumstances which may, quite +probably, accompany it. There is sound sense and infinite comfort, if +you look for it, in the old saying which bids us not to cross our +bridges till we come to them. + +The fear of the unknown, the unexperienced, is a more haunting, +insidious fear than any other, and sometimes one positively longs to +hasten the advent of an unwelcome ordeal, in order that the worst may +be known and the menace of the future be transformed into a memory of +the past. + +So it was with Diana. She had been for so long beset by her fear of +the first meeting that she experienced a sensation almost of relief +when her eyes fell at last upon the tall figure of her husband. + +He was deep in conversation with the French Ambassador at the moment, +but as Diana approached it was as though some sensitive, invisible live +wire had vibrated, apprising him of her nearness, and he looked up +suddenly, his blue eyes gazing straight into hers. + +To Diana, the brief encounter proved amazingly simple and easy in +contrast with the shrinking apprehensions she had formed. A slight bow +from her, its grave return from him, and the dreaded moment was past. + +It was only afterwards that she realised, with a sense of sick dismay, +how terribly he had altered. She caught at the accompanist's arm with +nervous force. + +"Olga!" she whispered. "Did you see?" + +The Russian's expression answered her. Her face wore a curious stunned +look, and her mouth twitched as she tried to control the sudden +trembling of her lips. + +"Come outside--on to this balcony." Olga spoke with a fierce +imperativeness as she saw Diana sway uncertainly and her face whiten. + +Once outside in the cool shelter of the balcony, dimly lit by swaying +Chinese lanterns, Diana sank into a chair, shaken and unnerved. For an +instant her eyes strayed back to where, through the open French window, +she could see Max still conversing with the Ambassador, but she averted +them swiftly. + +The change in him hurt her like the sudden stab of a knife. His face +was worn and lined; there was something ascetic-looking in the hollowed +line from cheek-bone to chin and in the stern, austere closing of the +lips, while the eyes--the mocking blue eyes with the laughter always +lurking at the back of them--held an expression of deep, unalterable +sadness. + +"Olga!" The word broke from Diana's white lips like a cry of appeal, +tremulous and uncertain. + +But Miss Lermontof made no response. She seemed quite unmoved by the +distress of the woman sitting huddled in the chair before her, and her +light green eyes shone with a curious savage glint like the eyes of a +cat. + +Diana spoke again nervously. + +"Are you--angry with me?" + +"Angry!" The Russian almost spat out the word. "Angry! Don't you see +what you're doing?" + +"What I'm doing?" repeated Diana. "What am I doing?" + +Olga replied with a grim incisiveness. + +"You're killing Max--that's all. This--this is going to break +him--break him utterly." + +There was a long silence, and the dewy dusk of the night, shaken into +pearly mist where the flickering light of the Chinese lanterns +illumined it, seemed to close round the two women, like a filmy +curtain, shutting them off from the chattering throng in the adjoining +room. + +Presently a cart rattled past in the street below, rasping the tense +silence. + +Diana lifted her head. + +"I didn't know!" she said helplessly. "I didn't know! . . ." + +"And yet you professed to love him!" Olga spoke consideringly, an +element of contemptuous wonder in her voice. + +The memory of words that Max had uttered long ago stirred in Diana's +mind. + +"_You don't know what love means!_" + +Limned against the darkness she could see once more the sun-warmed +beach at Culver Point, the blue, sparkling sea with the white gulls +wheeling above it, and Max--Max standing tall and straight beside her, +with a shaft of sunlight flickering across his hair, and love +illimitable in his eyes. + +"You don't know what love means!" + +The words penetrated to her innermost consciousness, cleaving their way +sheer through the fog of doubt and mistrust and pride as the sharp +blade of the surgeon's knife cuts deep into a festering wound. And +before their clarifying, essential truth, Diana's soul recoiled in dumb +dismay. + +No, she hadn't known what love meant--love, which, with an exquisite +unreasonableness, believes when there is ground for doubt--hadn't +understood it as even this cynical, bitter-tongued Russian understood +it. And she recognised the scorn on Olga's white, contemptuous face as +the unlovely sheath of an ideal of love immeasurably beyond her own +achieving. + +The vision of Culver Point faded away, and an impalpable wall of +darkness seemed to close about her. Dimly, as though it were some one +else's voice speaking, she heard herself say slowly:-- + +"I thought I loved him." Then, after a pause, "Will you go? Please +go. I should like to be . . . quiet . . . a little while." + +For a moment Olga gazed down at her, eagerly, almost hungrily, as +though silently beseeching her. Then, still silently, she went away. + +Diana sat very still. Above her, the gay-coloured Chinese lanterns +swayed to and fro in the little breeze that drifted up the street, and +above again, far off in the sombre sky, the stars looked +down--pitiless, unmoved, as they have looked down through all the ages +upon the pigmy joys and sufferings of humanity. + +For the first time Diana was awake to the limitations she had set to +love. + +The meeting with her husband had shaken her to the very foundations of +her being, the shock of his changed appearance sweeping away at a +single blow the whole fabric of artificial happiness that she had been +trying to build up. + +She had thought that the wound in her heart would heal, that she could +teach herself to forget the past. And lo! At the first sight of his +face the old love and longing had reawakened with a strength she was +powerless to withstand. + +The old love, but changed into something immeasurably more than it had +ever been before, and holding in its depths a finer understanding. And +with this clearer vision came a sudden new knowledge--a knowledge +fraught with pain and yet bearing deep within it an unutterable sense +of joy. + +Max had cared all the time--cared still! It was written in the lines +of suffering on his face, in the quiet endurance of the close-shut +mouth. Despite the bitter, pitiful misunderstandings of their married +life, despite his inexplicable friendship for Adrienne, despite all +that had gone before, Diana was sure, in the light of this larger +understanding which had come to her, that through it all he had loved +her. With an absolute certainty of conviction, she knew that it was +her hand which had graved those fresh lines about his mouth, brought +that look of calm sadness to his eyes, and the realisation held a +strange mingling of exquisite joy and keen anguish. + +She hid her face in her hands, hid it from the stars and the shrouding +dark, tremulously abashed at the wonderful significance of love. + +She almost laughed to think how she had allowed so small a thing as the +secret which Max could not tell her to corrode and eat into the heart +of happiness. Looking back from the standpoint she had now gained, it +seemed so pitifully mean and paltry, a profanation of the whole inner, +hidden meaning of love. + +So long as she and Max cared for each other, nothing else mattered, +nothing in the whole world. And the long battle between love and +pride--between love, that had turned her days and nights into one +endless ache of longing to return to Max, and pride, that had barred +the way inflexibly--was over, done with. + +Love had won, hands down. She would go back to Max, and all thought +that it might be weak-minded of her, humiliating to her self-respect, +was swept aside. Love, the great teacher, had brought her through the +dark places where the lesser gods hold sway, out into the light of day, +and she knew that to return to Max, to give herself afresh to him, +would be the veritable triumph, of love itself. + +She would go back, back to the shelter of his love which had been +waiting for her all the time, unswerving and unreproaching. She had +read it in his eyes when they had met her own an hour ago. + +"I want you---body and soul I want you!" he had told her there by the +cliffs at Culver. + +And she had not given him all her soul. She had kept back that supreme +belief in the beloved which is an integral part of love. But now, now +she would go to him and give with both hands royally--faith and trust, +blindly, as love demanded. + +She smiled a little. Happiness and the haven of Max's arms seemed very +near her just then. + + +She was very silent as she and Olga Lermontof drove home together from +the Embassy, but just at the last, when the limousine stopped at +Baroni's house, she leaned closer to Olga in the semi-darkness, and +whispered a little breathlessly:-- + +"I'm going back to him, Olga." + +Somehow the mere putting of it into words seemed to give it substance, +convert it into an actual fact that could be talked about, just like +the weather, or one's favourite play, or any other commonplace matter +which can be spoken of because it has a knowledgeable existence. And +the Russian's quick "Thank God!" set the seal of assuredness upon it. + +"Yes--thank God," answered Diana simply. + +The car, which was to take the accompanist on to Brutton Square, +slipped away down the lamp-lit street, and Diana fled upstairs to her +room. + +She must be alone--alone with her thoughts. She no longer dreaded the +night and its quiet solitude. It was a solitude pervaded by a deep, +abiding peace, the anteroom of happiness. + +To-morrow she would go to Max, and tell him that love had taught her +belief and faith--all that he had asked of her and that she had so +failed to give. + +She lay long awake, gazing into the dark, dreamily conscious of utter +peace and calm. To-morrow . . . to-morrow . . . Freely her eyes +closed and she slept. Once she stirred and smiled a little in her +sleep while the word "Max" fluttered from between her lips, almost as +though it had been a prayer. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +BREAKING-POINT + +When Diana woke the following morning it was to a drowsy sense of utter +peace and content. She wondered vaguely what had given rise to it. +Usually, when she came back to the waking world, it was with a shrinking +almost akin to terror that a new day had begun and must be lived +through--twelve empty, meaningless hours of it. + +As full consciousness returned, the remembrance of yesterday's meeting +with Max, and of all that had succeeded it, flashed into her mind like a +sudden ray of sunlight, and she realised that what had tinged her +thoughts with rose-colour was the quiet happiness, bred of her +determination to return to her husband, which had lain stored at the back +of her brain during the hours of unconsciousness. + +She sat up in bed, vividly, joyously awake, just as her maid came in with +her breakfast tray. + +"Make haste, Milling," she exclaimed, a thrill of eager excitement in her +voice. "It's a lovely morning, and there's so much going to happen +to-day that I can't waste any time over breakfast." + +It was the old, impetuous Diana who spoke, impulsively carried away by +the emotion of the moment. + +"Is there, madam?" Milling, arranging the breakfast things on a little +table beside the bed, regarded her mistress affectionately. It was long, +very long, since she had seen her with that look of happy anticipation in +her face--never since the good days at Lilac Lodge, before she had +quarrelled so irrevocably with her husband--and the maid wondered whether +it foretokened a reconciliation. "Is there, madam? Then I'm glad it's a +fine day. It's a good omen." + +Diana smiled at her. + +"Yes," she repeated contentedly. "It's a good omen." + +Milling paused on her way out of the room. + +"If you please, madam, Signor Baroni would like to know at what time you +will be ready to rehearse your songs for to-night, so that he can +telephone through to Miss Lermontof?" + +To rehearse! Diana's face clouded suddenly. She had entirely forgotten +that she had promised to give her services that night at a reception, +organised in aid of some charity by the Duchess of Linfield--the shrewish +old woman who had paid Diana her first tribute of tears--and the +recollection of it sounded the knell to her hopes of seeing Max that day. +The morning must perforce be devoted to practising, the afternoon to the +necessary rest which Baroni insisted upon, and after that there would be +only time to dress and partake of a light meal before she drove to the +Duchess's house. + +It would not be possible to see Max! Even had there been time she dared +not risk the probable consequences to her voice which the strain and +emotion of such an interview must necessarily carry in their train. + +For a moment she felt tempted to break her engagement, to throw it over +at the last instant and telephone to the Duchess to find a substitute. +And then her sense of duty to her public--to the big, warm-hearted public +who had always welcomed and supported her--pushed itself to the fore, +forbidding her to take this way out of the difficulty. + +How could she, who had never yet broken a contract when her appearance +involved a big fee, fail now, on an occasion when she had consented to +give her services, and when it was her name alone on the programme which +had charmed so much money from the pockets of the wealthy, that not a +single seat of all that could be crowded into the Duchess's rooms +remained unsold? Oh, it was impossible! + +Had it meant the renouncing of the biggest fee ever offered her, Diana, +would have impetuously sacrificed it and flung her patrons overboard. +But it meant something more than that. It was a debt of honour, her +professional honour. + +After all, the fulfilment of her promise to sing would only mean setting +her own affairs aside for twenty-four hours, and somehow she felt that +Max would understand and approve. He would never wish to snatch a few +earlier hours of happiness if they must needs be purchased at the price +of a broken promise. But her heart sank as she faced the only +alternative. + +She turned to Milling, the happy exultation that had lit her eyes +suddenly quenched. + +"Ask the _Maestro_ kindly to 'phone Miss Lermontof that I shall be ready +at eleven," she said quietly. + +In some curious way this unlooked-for upset to her plans seemed to have +cast a shadow across her path. The warm surety of coming happiness which +had lapped her round receded, and a vague, indefinable apprehension +invaded her consciousness. It was as though she sensed something +sinister that lay in wait for her round the next corner, and all her +efforts to recapture the radiant exultation of her mood of yestereve, to +shake off the nervous dread that had laid hold of her, failed miserably. + +Her breakfast was standing untouched on the table beside her bed. She +regarded it distastefully. Then, recalling with a wry smile Baroni's +dictum that "good food, and plenty of good food, means voice," she +reluctantly began to eat, idly turning over the while the pages of one of +the newspapers which Milling had placed beside the breakfast tray. It +was an illustrated weekly, and numbered amongst its staff an enterprising +young journalist, possessed of an absolute genius for nosing out such +matters as the principal people concerned in them particularly desired +kept secret. Those the enterprising young journalist's paper served up +piping-hot in their _Tattle of the Town_ column--a column denounced by +the pilloried few and devoured with eager interest by the rest of the +world. + +Diana, sipping her coffee, turned to it half-heartedly, hoping to find +some odd bit of news that might serve to distract her thoughts. + +There were the usual sly hits at several well-known society women whose +public charities covered a multitude of private sins, followed by a very +inadequately veiled reference to the chief actors in a recent divorce +case, and then-- + +Diana's eyes glued themselves to the printed page before her. Very +deliberately she set down her cup on the tray beside her, and taking up +the paper again, re-read the paragraph which had so suddenly riveted her +attention. It ran as follows:-- + + +"Is it true that the _nom de plume_ of a dramatist, well-known in London +circles, masks the identity of the son of a certain romantic royal duke +who contracted a morganatic marriage with one of the most beautiful +Englishwomen of the seventies? + +"It would be curious if there proved to be a connecting link between this +whisper and the recent disappearance from the stage of the popular +actress who has been so closely associated with the plays emanating from +the gifted pen of that same dramatist. + +"Interested readers should carefully watch forthcoming events in the +little state of Ruvania." + + +Diana stared at the newspaper incredulously, and a half-stifled +exclamation broke from her. + +There was--there _could_ be--no possible doubt to whom the paragraph bore +reference. "_A well-known dramatist and the popular actress so closely +associated with his works_"--why, to any one with the most superficial +knowledge of plays and players of the moment, it was as obvious as though +the names had been written in capitals. + +Max and Adrienne! Their identities linked together and woven into a +fresh tissue of mystery and innuendo! + +Diana smiled a little at the suggestion that Max might be the son of a +royal duke. It was so very far-fetched--fantastic in the extreme. + +And then, all at once, she remembered Olga's significant query of long +ago: "_Have you ever asked him who he is?_" and Max's stern refusal to +answer the question when she had put it to him. + +At the time it had only given an additional twist to the threads of the +intolerable web of mystery which had enmeshed her married life. But now +it suddenly blazed out like a beacon illumining the dark places. +Supposing it were true--supposing Max _had_ been masquerading under +another name all the time--then this suggestive little paragraph +contained a clue from which she might perhaps unravel the whole hateful +mystery. + +Her brows drew together as she puzzled over the matter. This history of +a morganatic marriage--it held a faint ring of familiarity. Vaguely she +recollected having heard the story of some royal duke who had married an +Englishwoman many years ago. + +For a few minutes she racked her brain, unable to place the incident. +Then, her eyes falling absently upon the newspaper once more, the last +word of the paragraph suddenly unlocked the rusty door of memory. + +_Ruvania_! She remembered the story now! There had once been a younger +brother and heir of a reigning grand-duke of Ruvania who had fallen so +headlong in love with a beautiful Englishwoman that he had renounced his +royal state and his claims to the grand ducal throne, and had married the +lady of his choice, thereafter living the life of a simple country +gentleman. + +The affair had taken place a good many years prior to Diana's entry into +life, but at the time it had made such a romantic appeal to the +sentimental heart of the world at large that it had never been quite +forgotten, and had been retold in Diana's hearing on more than one +occasion. + +Indeed, she recollected having once seen a newspaper containing an early +portrait of a family group composed of Duke Boris and his morganatic wife +and children. There had been two of the latter, a boy and a girl, and +Diana suddenly realised, with an irrepressible little flutter of tender +excitement, that if the fantastic story hinted at in _Tattle of the +Town_, were true, then the boy whom, years ago, she had seen pictured in +the photograph must have been actually Max himself. + +And--again if it were true--how naturally and easily it explained that +little unconscious air of hauteur and authority that she had so often +observed in him--the "lordly" air upon which she had laughingly remarked +to Pobs, when describing the man who had been her companion on that +memorable railway journey, when death had drawn very near them both and +then had passed them by. + +Her thoughts raced onward, envisaging the possibilities involved. + +There were no dukes of Ruvania now; that she knew. The little State, +close on the borders of Russia, had been--like so many of the smaller +Eastern States--convulsed by a revolution, some ten years ago, and since +then had been governed by a republic. + +Was the explanation of all that had so mystified her to be found in the +fact that Max was a political exile? + +The _Tattle of the Town_ paragraph practically suggested, that the +affairs of the "well-known dramatist" were in some way bound up with the +destiny of Ruvania. That was indicated plainly enough in the reference +to "forthcoming events." + +Diana's head whirled with the throng of confused ideas that poured in +upon her. + +And Adrienne de Gervais? What part did she play in this strange medley? +_Tattle of the Town_ assigned her one. Max and Adrienne and Ruvania were +all inextricably tangled up together in the thought-provoking paragraph. + +Suddenly, Diana's heart gave a great leap as a possible explanation of +the whole matter sprang into her mind. There had been two children of +the morganatic marriage, a son and a daughter. Was it conceivable that +Adrienne de Gervais was the daughter? + +Adrienne, Max's sister! That would account for his inexplicably close +friendship with her, his devotion to her welfare, and--if she, like +himself, were exiled--the secrecy which he had maintained. + +Slowly the conviction that this was the true explanation of all that had +caused her such bitter heartburning in the unhappy past grew and deepened +in Diana's mind. A chill feeling of dismay crept about her heart. If it +were true, then how hideously--how _unforgivably_--she had misjudged her +husband! + +She drew a sharp, agonised breath, her shaking fingers gripping the +bedclothes like a frightened child's. + +"Oh, not that! Don't let it be that!" she whispered piteously. + +She looked round the room with scared eyes. Who could help her--tell her +the truth--set at rest this new fear which had assailed her? There must +be some one . . . some one. . . . Yes, there was Olga! _She_ knew--had +known Max's secret all along. But would she speak? Would she reveal the +truth? Something--heaven knew what!--had kept her silent hitherto, save +for the utterance of those maddening taunts and innuendoes which had so +often lodged in Diana's heart and festered there. + +Feverishly Diana sprang out of bed and began to dress, flinging on her +clothes in a very frenzy of haste. She would see Olga, and beg, pray, +beseech her, if necessary, to tell her all she knew. + +If she failed, if the Russian woman obstinately denied her, she would +know no peace of mind--no rest. She felt she had reached +breaking-point--she could endure no more. + +But she would not fail. When Olga came--and she would be here soon, very +soon now--she would play up the knowledge she had gleaned from the +newspaper for all it was worth, and she would force the truth from her, +willing or unwilling. + +Whether that truth spelt heaven, or the utter, final wrecking of all her +life, she must know it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE REAPING + +Half an hour later Diana descended to the big music-room, where she +usually rehearsed, to find Olga Lermontof already awaiting her there. + +By a sheer effort of will she had fought down the storm of emotion which +had threatened to overwhelm her, and now, as she greeted her accompanist, +she was quite cool and composed, though rather pale and with tired +shadows beneath her eyes. + +There was something almost unnatural in her calm, and the shrewd Russian +eyed her with a sudden apprehension. This was not the same woman whom +she had left last night, thrilling and softly tremulous with love. + +She began speaking quickly, an undercurrent of suppressed excitement in +her tones. + +"There's some mistake, isn't there? You don't want me--this morning?" + +Diana regarded her composedly. + +"Certainly I want you--to rehearse for to-night." + +"To rehearse? Rehearse?" Olga's voice rose in a sharp crescendo of +amazement. "Surely"--bending forward to peer into Diana's face--"surely +you are not going to keep Max waiting while you--_rehearse_?" + +"It's impossible for us to meet to-day," replied Diana steadily. "I +had--forgotten--the Duchess's reception." + +Olga made a gesture of impatience. + +"But you must meet to-day," she said imperiously. "You _must_! +To-morrow it will be too late." + +"Too late? How too late?" + +Miss Lermontof hesitated a moment. Then she said quietly:-- + +"I happen to know that Max is leaving England to-night." + +Diana shrugged her shoulders. + +"Well, he will come back, I suppose." + +The other looked at her curiously. + +"Diana, what has come to you? You are so--changed--since last night." + +"We're told that 'night unto night showeth knowledge,'" retorted Diana +bitterly. "Perhaps _my_ knowledge has increased since--last night." She +watched the puzzled expression deepen on Olga's face. Then she added: +"So I can afford to wait a little longer to see Max." + +Again Miss Lermontof hesitated. Then, as though impelled to speak +despite her better judgment, she burst out impetuously:-- + +"But you can't! You can't wait. He isn't coming back again." + +There was a queer tense note in Diana's voice as she played her first big +card. + +"Then I suppose I shall have to follow him to--Ruvania," she said very +quietly. + +"To Ruvania?" Olga repeated, and by the sudden narrowing of her eyes, as +though she were all at once "on guard," Diana knew that her shot in the +dark had gone home. "What do you mean? Why--Ruvania?" + +Diana faced her squarely. Despite her feverish desire to wring the truth +from the other woman, she had herself well in hand, and when she spoke it +was with a certain dignity. + +"Don't you think that the time for pretence and hypocrisy has gone by? +_You_ know--all that I ought to know. Now that even the newspapers are +aware of Max's--and Adrienne's--connection with Ruvania, do you still +think it necessary that I, his wife, should be kept in the dark?" + +"The newspapers?" Olga spoke with sudden excitement. "How much do they +know? What do they say? . . . After all, though," she added more +quietly, "it doesn't much matter--now. Everything is settled--for good +or ill. But if the papers had got hold of it sooner--" + +"Well?" queried Diana coolly, intent on driving her into giving up her +knowledge. "What if they had?" + +Olga surveyed her ironically. + +"What if they had? Only that, if they had, probably you wouldn't have +possessed a husband a few hours later. A knife in the back is a quick +road out of life, you know." + +Diana caught her breath, and her self-command gave way suddenly. + +"For God's sake, what do you mean? Tell me--you must tell +me--everything, everything! I can't bear it any longer. I know too +much--" She broke off with a dry, choking sob. + +Olga's face softened. + +"You poor child!" she muttered to herself. Then, aloud, she said gently: +"Tell me--how much do you know?" + +With an effort Diana mastered herself again. + +"I know Max's parentage," she began steadily. + +"You know that?"--with quick surprise. + +"Yes. And that he has a sister." + +Olga nodded, smiling rather oddly. + +"Yes. He has a sister," she admitted. + +"And that he is involved in Ruvanian politics. Something is going to +happen there, in Ruvania--" + +"Yes to that also. Something is going to happen there. The republic is +down and out, and the last of the Mazaroffs is going to receive back the +ducal crown." There was a tinge of mockery in Miss Lermontof's curt +tones. + +Diana gave a cry of dismay. + +"Not--not Max?" she stammered. All at once, he seemed to have receded +very far away from her, to have been snatched into a world whither she +would never be able to follow him. + +"Max?" Olga's face darkened. "No--not Max, but Nadine Mazaroff." + +"Nadine Mazaroff?" repeated Diana uncomprehendingly. "Who is Nadine +Mazaroff?" + +"She is the woman you knew as Adrienne de Gervais." + +"Adrienne? Is that her name--Nadine Mazaroff? Then--then"--Diana's +breath came unevenly--"she's not Max's sister?" + +"No"--shortly. "She is--or will be within a week--the Grand Duchess of +Ruvania." + +"Go on," urged Diana, as the other paused. "Go on. Tell me everything. +I know so much already that it can't be breaking faith with any one for +you to tell me the whole truth now." + +Olga looked at her consideringly. + +"No. I suppose, since the journalists have ferreted it out, it won't be +a secret much longer," she conceded grimly. "And, in any case, it +doesn't matter now. It's all settled." She sighed. "Besides"--with a +faint smile--"if I tell you, it will save Max a long story when you meet." + +"Yes," replied Diana, an odd expression flitting across her face. "It +will save Max a long story--when we meet. Tell me," she continued, with +an effort, "tell me about--Nadine Mazaroff." + +"Nadine?" cried Olga, with sudden violence. "Nadine Mazaroff is the +woman I hate more than any other on this earth!" Her eyes gleamed +malevolently. "She stands where Max should stand. If it were not for +her the Ruvanian people would have accepted him as their ruler--and +overlooked his English mother. But Nadine is the legitimate heir, the +child of the late Grand Duke--and Max is thrust out of the succession, +because our father's marriage was a morganatic one." + +"_Your_ father?" + +"Yes"--with a brief smile--"I am the sister whose existence you +discovered." + +For a moment Diana was silent. It had never occurred to her to connect +Max and Olga in any way; the latter had always seemed to her to be more +or less at open enmity with him. + +Immediately her heart contracted with the old haunting fear. What, then, +was Adrienne to Max? + +"Go on," she whispered at last, under her breath. "Go on." + +"I've never forgiven my father"--Olga spoke with increasing passion. +"For his happiness with his English wife, Max and I have paid every day +of our lives! . . . As soon as I was of age, I refused the State +allowance granted me as a daughter of Boris Mazaroff, and left the +Ruvanian Court. Since then I've lived in England as plain Miss +Lermontof, and earned my own living. Not one penny of their tainted +money will I touch!"--fiercely. + +"But Max--Max!" broke in Diana. "Tell me about Max!" Olga's personal +quarrel with her country held no interest for a woman on the rack. + +"Max?" Olga shrugged her shoulders. "Max is either a saint or a +fool--God knows which! For his loyalty to the House that branded him +with a stigma, and to the woman who robbed him of his heritage, has never +failed." + +"You mean--Adrienne?" whispered Diana, as Olga paused an instant, shaken +by emotion. + +"Yes, I mean Adrienne--Nadine Mazaroff. Her parents were killed in the +Ruvanian revolution--butchered by the mob on the very steps of the +palace. But she herself was saved by my brother. At the time the revolt +broke out, he was living in Borovnitz, the capital, and he rushed off to +the palace and contrived to rescue Nadine and get her away to England. +Since then, while the Royalist party have been working day and night for +the restoration of the Mazaroffs, Max has watched over her safety." She +paused, resuming with an accent of jealous resentment: "And it has been +no easy task. German money backed the revolution, in the hope that when +Ruvania grew tired of her penny-farthing republic--as she was bound to +do--Germany might step in again and convert Ruvania into a little +dependent State under Prussia. There's always a German princeling handy +for any vacant throne!"--contemptuously--"and in the event of a big +European War, Ruvania in German hands would provide an easy entrance into +Russia. So you see, Nadine, alive and in safety, was a perpetual menace +to the German plans. For some years she was hidden in a convent down in +the West Country, not very far from Crailing, and after a while people +came to believe that she, too, had perished in the revolution. It was +only then that Max allowed her to emerge from the convent, and by that +time she had grown from a young, unformed girl into a woman, so that +there was little danger of her being recognised by any casual +observer--or even by the agents of the anti-royalist party." + +"Max seems to have done--a great deal--for her," said Diana, speaking +slowly and rather painfully. + +Olga flashed her a brief look of understanding. + +"Yes," she said quietly. "He has done everything that patriotism +demanded of him--even"--meaningly--"to the sacrificing of his own +personal happiness. . . . It was entirely his idea that Nadine should +pass as an actress. She always had dramatic talent, and when she came +out of the convent he arranged that she should study for the stage. He +believed that there was no safer way of concealing her identity than by +providing her with an entirely different one--and a very obvious one at +that. And events have proved him right. After all, people only become +suspicious when they see signs of secrecy, and there is no one more +constantly in the public eye than an actress. The last place you would +look for a missing grand duchess is on the English stage! The very +daring and publicity of the thing made it a success. No one guessed who +she was, and only I, I and Carlo Baroni, knew. Oh, yes, I was sworn to +secrecy"--as she read the question in Diana's eye--"and when I saw you +and Max drifting apart, and knew that a word from me could set things +right, I've been tempted again and again to break my oath. Thank +God!"--passionately--"Oh, thank God! I can speak now!" + +She twisted her shoulders as though freed from some heavy burden. + +"Yon thank God? _You_?" Diana spoke with bitter unbelief. "Why, it was +you who made things a thousand times worse between us--you who goaded me +into fresh suspicions. You never helped me to believe in him--although +you knew the truth! You tried to part us!" + +"I know. I did try," acknowledged Olga frankly. "I'd borne it all for +years--watched my brother sheltering Nadine, working for her, using his +genius to write plays for her--spilling all his happiness at her +feet--and I couldn't endure it any longer. I thought--oh! I _prayed_ +that when it came to a choice between you and Nadine he would give +way--let Nadine fend for herself. And that was why I tried to anger you +against him--to drive you into forcing his hand." She paused, her breast +heaving tumultuously. "But the plan failed. Max remained staunch, and +only his happiness came crashing down about his ears instead. There +is"--bleakly--"no saving saints and martyrs against their will." + +A silence fell between them, and Diana made a few wavering steps towards +a chair and sat down. She felt as though her legs would no longer +support her. + +In a mad moment, half-crazed by the new fear which the newspaper +paragraph had inspired in her, she had closed the only road which might +have led her back to Max. Yesterday, still unwitting of how infinitely +she had wronged him, passionately, humbly ready to give him the trust he +had demanded, she might have gone to him. But to-day, her knowledge of +the truth had taken from her the power to make atonement, and had raised +a barrier between herself and Max which nothing in the world could ever +break down. + +She had failed her man in the hour of his need, and henceforth she must +walk outcast in desert places. + +There were still many gaps in the story to be filled in. But one thing +stood out clearly from amidst the chaos which enveloped her, and that +was, that she had misjudged her husband--terribly, unforgivably misjudged +him. + +It was loyalty, not love, that he had given Adrienne, and he had been +right--a thousand times right--in refusing to reveal, even to his wife, +the secret which was not his alone, and upon which hung issues of life +and death and the ultimate destiny of a country--perhaps, even, of Europe +itself! + +It was to save his country from the Prussian claw that Max had sacrificed +himself with the pure fervour of a patriot, at no matter what cost! And +she, Diana, by her lack of faith, her petty jealousy, had sent him from +her, had seen to it that that cost included even his happiness! + +She had failed him every way--trailing the glory of love's golden raiment +in the dust of the highway. + +If she had but fulfilled her womanhood, what might not her unshaken faith +have meant to a man fighting a battle against such bitter odds? No +matter how worn with the stress of incessant watchfulness, or wearied by +the strain of constant planning and the need to forestall each move of +the enemy, he would have found, always waiting for him, a refuge, a quiet +haven where love dwelt and where he might forget for a space and be at +rest. All this, which had been hers to give, she had withheld. + +The silence deepened in the room. The brilliant sunshine, slanting in +through the slats of the Venetian blinds, seemed out of place in what had +suddenly become a temple of pain. Somewhere outside a robin chirruped, +the cheery little sound holding, for one of the two women sitting there, +a note of hitter mockery. + +Suddenly Diana dropped her head on her hands with a shudder. + +"Oh, God!" she whispered. "Oh, God!" + +Olga leaned forward and laid a hand on her knee. + +"You can go back to him now, and give him all the happiness that he has +missed," she said steadily. + +"Go back to him?" Diana lifted her head and stared at her with dull +eyes. "Oh, no. I shan't do that." + +"You won't go back?" Olga spoke slowly, as though she doubted her own +hearing. + +A faint, derisive smile flickered across Diana's lips. "How could I? Do +you suppose that--that having failed him when he asked me to believe in +him, I could go back to him now--now that I know everything? . . . Oh, +no, I couldn't do that. I've nothing to offer him--now--nothing to +give--neither faith nor trust, because I know the whole truth." She +spoke with the quiet finality of one who can see no hope, no possibility +of better things, anywhere. The words "Too late!" beat in her brain like +the pendulum of a clock, maddeningly insistent. + +"If only I had been content to go to him without knowing!" she went on +tonelessly. "But that paragraph in the paper--it frightened me. I felt +that I _must know_ if--if I had been wronging him all the time. And I +had!" she ended wearily. "I had." Then, after a moment: "So you see, I +can't go back to him." + +"You--can't--go--back?" The words fell slowly, one by one, from Olga's +lips. "Do you mean that you won't go back now--now that you know he has +never failed you as you thought he had? . . . Oh!"--rapidly--"you can't +mean that. You won't--you can't refuse to go back now." + +Diana lifted a grey, drawn face. + +"Don't you see," she said monotonously, "it's just because of +that--because he hasn't failed me while I've failed him so utterly--that +I can't go back?" + +Olga turned on her swiftly, her green eyes blazing dangerously. + +"It's your pride!" she cried fiercely. "It's your damnable pride that's +standing in the way! Merciful heavens! Did you ever love him, I wonder, +that you're too proud to ask his forgiveness now--now when you know what +you've done?" + +Diana's lips moved in a pitiful attempt at a smile. + +"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head. "It's not that. I've . . . no +pride . . . left, I think. But I can't be mean--_mean_ enough to crawl +back now." She paused, then went on with an inflection of irony in her +low, broken voice. "'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.' +. . . Well, I'm reaping--that's all." + +Like the keen thrust of a knife came Olga's answer. + +"And must he, too, reap your sowing? For that's what it amounts to--that +Max must suffer for your sin. Oh! He's paid enough for others! . . . +Diana"--imploringly--"Max is leaving England to-night. Go back to him +now--don't wait until it's too late," + +"No." Diana spoke in dead, flat tones. "Can't you understand?"--moving +her head restlessly. "Do you suppose--even if he forgave me--that he +could ever believe in me again? He would never be certain that I really +trusted him. He would always feel unsure of me." + +"If you can think that, then you haven't understood Max--or his love for +you," retorted Olga vehemently. "Oh! How can I make you see it? You +keep on balancing this against that--what you can give, what Max can +believe--weighing out love as though it were sold by the ounce! Max +loves you--_loves you_! And there _aren't_ any limitations to love!" +She broke off abruptly, her voice shaking. "Can't you believe it?" she +added helplessly, after a minute. + +Diana shook her head. + +"I think you mean to be kind," she said patiently. "But love is a +giving. And I--have nothing to give." + +"And you're too proud to take." + +"Yes . . . if you call that pride. I can't take--when I've nothing to +give." + +"Then you don't love! You don't know what it means to love! +Diana"--Olga's voice rose in passionate entreaty--"for God's sake go to +him! He's suffered so much. Forget what people may think--what even he +may think! Throw your pride overboard and remember only that he loves +you and has need of you. _Go to him_!" + +She ceased, and her eyes implored Diana's. No matter what may have been +her shortcomings--and they were many, for she was a hard, embittered +woman--at least, in her devotion to her brother, Olga Lermontof +approached very nearly to the heroic. + +There was a long silence. At last Diana spoke in low, shaken tones, her +head bowed. + +"I can't!" she whispered. "I shall never forgive myself. And I can't +ask Max to--forgive me. . . . He couldn't." The last words were hardly +audible. + +For a moment Olga stood quite still, gazing with hard eyes at the slight +figure hunched into drooping lines of utter weariness. Once her lips +moved, but no sound came. Then she turned away, walking with lagging +footsteps, and a minute later the door opened and closed quietly again +behind her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +CARLO BARONI EXPLAINS + +Diana sat on, very still, very silent, staring straight in front of her +with wide, tearless eyes. Only now and again a long, shuddering sigh +escaped her, like the caught breath of a child that has cried till it +is utterly exhausted and can cry no more. + +She felt that she had come to an end of things. Nothing could undo the +past, and ahead of her stretched the future, empty and void of promise. + +Presently the creak of the door reopening roused her, and she turned, +instantly on the defensive, anticipating that Olga had come back to +renew the struggle. But it was only Baroni, who approached her with a +look of infinite concern on his kind old face. + +"My child!" he began. "My child! . . . So, then! You know all that +there is to know." + +Diana looked up wearily. + +"Yes," she replied. "I know it all." + +The old _maestro's_ eyes softened as they rested upon her, and when he +spoke again, his queer husky voice was toned to a note of extraordinary +sweetness. + +"My dear pupil, if it had been possible, I would haf spared you this +knowledge. It was wrong of Olga to tell you--above all"--his face +creasing with anxiety as the ruling passion asserted itself +irrepressibly--"to tell you on a day when you haf to sing!" + +"I made her," answered Diana listlessly. She passed her hand wearily +across her forehead. "Don't worry, _Maestro_, I shall be able to sing +to-night." + +"_Tiens_! But you are all to pieces, my child! You will drink a glass +of champagne--now, at once," he insisted, adding persuasively as she +shook her head, "To please me, is it not so?" + +Diana's lips curved in a tired smile. + +"Is champagne the cure for a heartache, then, _Maestro_?" + +Baroni's eyes grew suddenly sad. + +"Ah, my dear, only death--or a great love--can heal the wound that lies +in the heart," he answered gently. He paused, then resumed crisply: +"But, meanwhile, we haf to live--and _prima donnas_ haf to sing. +So . . . the little glass of wine in my room, is it not?" + +He tucked her arm within his, patting her hand paternally, and led her +into his own sanctum, where he settled her comfortably in a big +easy-chair beside the fire, and poured her out a glass of wine, +watching her sip it with a glow of satisfaction in his eyes. + +"That goes better, _hein_? This Olga--she had not reflected +sufficiently. It was too late for the truth to do good; it could only +pain and grieve you." + +"Yes," said Diana. "It is too late now. . . . I've paid for my +ignorance with my happiness--and Max's," she added in a lower tone. +She looked across at Baroni with sudden resentment. "And you--_you +knew_!" she continued. "Why didn't you tell me? . . . Oh, but I can +guess!"--scornfully. "It suited your purpose for me to quarrel with my +husband; it brought me back to the concert platform. My happiness +counted for nothing--against that!" + +Baroni regarded her patiently. + +"And do you regret it? Would you be willing, now, to give up your +career as a _prima donna_--and all that it means?" + +A vision rose up before Diana of what life would be denuded of the +glamour and excitement, the perpetual triumphs, the thrilling sense of +power her singing gave her--the dull, flat monotony of it, and she +caught her breath sharply in instinctive recoil. + +"No," she admitted slowly. "I couldn't give it up--now." + +An odd look of satisfaction overspread Baroni's face. + +"Then do not blame me, my child. For haf I not given you a consolation +for the troubles of life." + +"I need never have had those troubles to bear if you had been frank +with me!" she flashed back. "_You--you_ were not bound by any oath of +secrecy. Oh! It was cruel of you, _Maestro_!" + +Her eyes, bitterly accusing, searched his face. + +"Tchut! Tchut! But you are too quick to think evil of your old +_maestro_." He hesitated, then went on slowly: "It is a long story, my +dear--and sometimes a very sad story. I did not think it would pass my +lips again in this world. But for you, who are so dear to me, I will +break the silence of years. . . . Listen, then. When you, my little +Pepperpot, had not yet come to earth to torment your parents, but were +still just a tiny thought in the corner of God's mind, I--your old +Baroni--I was in Ruvania." + +"You--in Ruvania?" + +He nodded. + +"Yes. I went there first as a professor of singing at the Borovnitz +Conservatoire--_per Bacco_! But they haf the very soul of music, those +Ruvanians! And I was appointed to attend also at the palace to give +lessons to the Grand Duchess. Her voice was only a little less +beautiful than your own." He hesitated, as though he found it +difficult to continue. At last he said almost shyly: "Thou, my child, +thou hast known love. . . . To me, too, at the palace, came that best +gift of the good God." + +He paused, and Diana whispered stammeringly: + +"Not--not the Grand Duchess?" + +"Yes--Sonia." The old _maestro's_ eyes kindled with a soft luminance +as his whispering voice caressed the little flame. "Hers, of course, +had been merely a marriage dictated by reasons of State, and from the +time of our first meeting, our hearts were in each other's keeping. +But she never failed in duty or in loyalty. Only once, when I was +leaving Ruvania, never to return, did she give me her lips at parting." +Again he fell silent, his thoughts straying back across the years +between to that day when he had taken farewell of the woman who had +held his very soul between her hands. Presently, with an effort, he +resumed his story. "I stayed at the Ruvanian Court many years--there +was a post of Court musician which I filled--and for both of us those +years held much of sadness. The Grand Duke Anton was a domineering +man, hated by every one, and his wife's happiness counted for nothing +with him. She had failed to give him a son, and for that he never +pardoned her. I think my presence comforted her a little. That--and +the child--the little Nadine. . . . As much as Anton was disliked, so +much was his brother Boris beloved of the people. His story you know. +Of this I am sure--that he lived and died without once regretting the +step he had taken in marrying an Englishwoman. They were lovers to the +end, those two." + +Listening to the little history of those two tender love tales that had +run their course side by side, Diana almost forgot for a moment how the +ripples of their influence, flowing out in ever-widening circles, had +touched, at last, even her own life, and had engulfed her happiness. + +But, as Baroni ceased, the recollection of her own bitter share in the +matter returned with overwhelming force, and once more she arraigned +him for his silence. + +"I still see no reason why you should not have told me the truth about +Adrienne--about Nadine Mazaroff. Max couldn't--I see that; nor Olga. +But _you_ were bound by no oath." + +"My child, I was bound by something stronger than an oath." + +The old man crossed the room to where there stood on a shelf a little +ebony cabinet, clamped with dull silver of foreign workmanship. He +unlocked it, and withdrew from it a letter, the paper faintly yellowed +and brittle with the passage of time. + +He held it out to Diana. + +"No eyes but mine haf ever rested on it since it was given into my hand +after her death," he said very gently. "But you, my child, you shall +read it; you are hurt and unhappy, battering against fate, and +believing that those who love you haf served you ill. But we were all +bound in different ways. . . . Read the letter, little one, and thou +wilt see that I, too, was not free." + +Hesitatingly Diana unfolded the thin sheet and read the few faded lines +it contained. + + +"CARLO MIO, + +"I think the end is coming for Anton and for me. The revolt of the +people is beyond all quelling. My only fear is for Nadine; my only +hope for her ultimate safety lies in Max. If ever, in the time to +come, your silence or your speech can do aught for my child--in the +name of the love you gave me, I beg it of you. In serving her, you +will be serving me. + +"SONIA." + + +Very slowly Diana handed the letter back to Baroni. + +"So--that was why," she whispered. + +Baroni bent his head. + +"That was why. I could not speak. But I did all that lay in my power +to prevent this marriage of yours." + +"You did." A wan little smile tilted the corners of her mouth at the +remembrance. + +"Afterwards--your happiness was on the knees of the gods!" + +"No," said Diana suddenly. "No. It was in my own hands. Had I +believed in Max we should have been happy still. . . . But I failed +him." + +A long silence followed. At last she rose, holding out her hands. + +"Thank you," she said simply. "Thank you for showing me the letter." + +Baroni stooped his head and carried her hands to his lips. + +"My dear, we make our mistakes and then we pay. It is always so in +life. Love"--and the odd, clouded voice shook a little--"Love +brings--great happiness--and great pain. Yet we would not be without +it." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE AWAKENING + +Somehow the interminable hours of the day had at last worn to evening, +and Diana found herself standing in front of a big mirror, listlessly +watching Milling as she bustled round her, putting the last touches to +her dress for the Duchess of Linfield's reception. The same thing had +to be gone through every concert night--the same patient waiting while +the exquisite toilette, appropriate to a _prima donna_, was consummated +by Milling's clever fingers. + +Only, this evening, every nerve in Diana's body was quivering in +rebellion. + +What was it Olga had said? "_Max is leaving England to-night._" So, +while she was being dressed like a doll for the pleasuring of the +people who had paid to hear her sing, Max was being borne away out of +her ken, out of her existence for ever. + +What a farce it all seemed! In a little while she would be singing as +perfectly as usual, bowing and smiling as usual, and not one amongst +the crowded audience would know that in reality it was only the husk of +a woman who stood there before them--the mere outer shell. All that +mattered, the heart and soul of her, was dead. She knew that quite +well. Probably she would feel glad about it in time, she thought, +because when one was dead things didn't hurt any more. It was dying +that hurt. . . . + +"Your train, madam." + +She started at the sound of Milling's respectful voice. What a +lop-sided thing a civilised sense of values seemed to be! Even when +you had dragged the white robes of your spirit deep in the mire, you +must still be scrupulously careful not to soil the hem of the white +satin that clothed your body. + +She almost laughed aloud, then bit the laugh back, picturing Milling's +astonished face. The girl would think she was mad. Perhaps she was. +It didn't matter much, anyway. + +Mechanically she held out her arm for Milling to throw the train of her +gown across it, and, picking up her gloves, went slowly downstairs. + +Baroni, his face wearing an expression of acute anxiety, was waiting +for her in the hall, restlessly pacing to and fro. + +"Ah--h!" His face cleared as by magic when the slender, white-clad +figure appeared round the last bend of the stairway. He had half +feared that at the last moment the strain of the day's emotion might +exact its penalty, and Diana prove unequal to the evening's demands. + +To hide his obvious relief, he turned sharply to the maid, who had +followed her mistress downstairs, carrying her opera coat and furs. + +"Madame's cloak--make haste!" he commanded curtly. + +And when Diana had entered the car, he waved aside the manservant and +himself tucked the big fur rug carefully round her. There was +something rather pathetic, almost maternal, in the old man's care of +her, and Diana's lips quivered. + +"Thank you, dear _Maestro_," she said, gently pressing his arm with her +hand. + + +The Duchess's house was packed with a complacent crowd of people, +congratulating themselves upon being able, for once, to combine duty +and pleasure, since the purchase-money of their tickets for the +evening's entertainment contributed to a well-known charity, and at the +same time procured them the privilege of bearing once more their +favourite singer. Some there were who had grounds for additional +satisfaction in the fact that, under the wide cloak of charity, they +had managed to squeeze through the exclusive portals of Linfield House +for the first--and probably the last--time in their lives. + +As the singer made her way through the thronged hall, those who knew +her personally bowed and smiled effusively, whilst those who didn't +looked on from afar and wished they did. It was not unlike a royal +progress, and Diana heaved a quick sigh of relief when at last she +found herself in the quiet of the little apartment set aside as an +artistes' room. + +Olga Lermontof was already there, and Diana greeted her rather +nervously. She felt horribly uncertain what attitude Miss Lermontof +might be expected to adopt in the circumstances. + +But she need have had no anxiety on that score. Olga seemed to be just +her usual self--grave and self-contained, her thin, dark-browed face +wearing its habitual half-mocking expression. Apparently she had wiped +out the day's happenings from her mind, and had become once more merely +the quiet, competent accompanist to a well-known singer. + +There was no one else in the artistes' room. The other performers were +mingling with the guests, only withdrawing from the chattering crowd +when claimed by their part in the evening's entertainment. + +"How far on are they?" asked Diana, picking up the programme and +running her eye down it. + +"Your songs are the next item but one," replied Miss Lermontof. + +A violin solo preceded the two songs which, bracketed together in the +middle of the programme as its culminating point, made the sum total of +Diana's part in it, and she waited quietly in the little anteroom while +the violinist played, was encored and played again, and throughout the +brief interval that followed. She felt that to-night she could not +face the cheap, everyday flow of talk and compliment. She would sing +because she had promised, that she would, but as soon as her part was +done she would slip away and go home--home, where she could sit alone +by the dead embers of her happiness. + +A little flutter of excitement rippled through the big rooms when at +last she mounted the platform. People who had hitherto been content to +remain, in the hall, regarding the music as a pleasant accompaniment to +the interchange of the day's news and gossip, now came flocking in +through the doorways, hoping to find seats, and mostly having to +content themselves with standing-room. + +Almost as in a dream, Diana waited for the applause to subside, her +eyes roaming halt-unconsciously over the big assembly. + +It was all so stalely familiar--the little rustle of excitement, the +preliminary clapping, the settling down to listen, and then the sea of +upturned faces spread out beneath her. + +The memory of the first time that she had sung in public, at Adrienne's +house in Somervell Street, came back to her. It had been just such an +occasion as this. . . . + +(Olga was playing the introductory bars of accompaniment to her song, +and, still as in a dream, she began to sing, the exquisite voice +thrilling out into the vast room, golden and perfect.) + +. . . Adrienne had smiled at her encouragingly from across the room, +and Jerry Leigh had been standing at the far end near some big double +doors. There were double doors to this room, too, flung wide open. +(It was odd how clearly she could recall it all; her mind seemed to be +working quite independently of what was going on around her.) And Max +had been there. She remembered how she had believed him to be still +abroad, and then, how she had looked up and suddenly met his gaze +across those rows and rows of unfamiliar faces. He had come back. + +Instinctively she glanced towards the far end of the room, where, on +that other night and in that other room, he had been standing, and +then . . . then . . . was it still only the dream, the memory of long +ago? . . . Or had God worked a miracle? . . . Over the heads of the +people, Max's eyes, grave and tender, but unspeakably sad, looked into +hers! + +A hand seemed to grip her heart, squeezing it so that she could not +draw her breath. Everything grew blurred and dim about her, but +through the blur she could still see Max, standing with his head thrown +back against the panelling of the door, his arms folded across his +chest, and his eyes--those grave, questioning eyes--fixed on her face. + +Presently the darkness cleared away and she found that she was still +singing--mechanically her voice had answered to the long training of +years. But the audience had heard the great _prima donna_ catch her +breath and falter in her song. For an instant it had seemed almost as +though she might break down. Then the tension passed, and the lovely +voice, upborne by a limitless technique, had floated out again, golden +and perfect as before. + +It was only the habit of surpassing art which had enabled Diana to +finish her song. Since last night, when she had seen Max for that +brief moment at the Embassy, she had passed through the whole gamut of +emotion, glimpsed the vision of coming happiness, only to believe that +with her own hands she had pushed it aside. And now she was conscious +of nothing but that Max--Max, the man she loved--was here, close to her +once again, and that her heart was crying out for him. He was hers, +her mate out of the whole world, and in a sudden blinding flash of +self-revelation, she recognised in her refusal to return to him a sheer +denial of the divine altruism of love. + +The blank, bewildering chaos of the last twelve hours, with its turmoil +of conflicting passions, took on a new aspect, and all at once that +which had been dark was become light. + +From the moment she had learned the truth about her husband, her +thoughts had centred solely round herself, dwelling--in, all humility, +it is true--but still dwelling none the less egotistically upon her +personal failure, her own irreparable mistake, her self-wrought +bankruptcy of all the faith and absolute belief a woman loves to give +her lover. She had thrust these things before his happiness, whereas +the stern and simple creed of love places the loved one first and +everything else immeasurably second. + +But now, in this quickened moment of revelation, Diana knew that she +loved Max utterly and entirely, that his happiness was her supreme +need, and that if she let him go from her again, life would be +henceforth a poor, maimed thing, shorn of all meaning. + +It no longer mattered that she had sinned against him, that she had +nothing to bring, that she must go to him a beggar. The scales had +fallen from her eyes, and she realised that in love there is no +reckoning--no pitiful making-up of accounts. The pride that cannot +take has no place there; where love is, giving and taking are one and +indivisible. + +Nothing mattered any longer--nothing except that Max was here--here, +within reach of the great love in her heart that was stretching out its +arms to him . . . calling him back. + +The audience, ardently applauding her first song, saw her turn and give +some brief instruction to her accompanist, who nodded, laying aside the +song which she had just placed upon the music-desk. A little whisper +ran through the assembly as people asked each other what song was about +to be substituted for the one on the programme, and when the sad, +appealing music of "The Haven of Memory," stole out into the room, they +smiled and nodded to one another, pleased that the great singer was +giving them the song in which they loved best to hear her. + + + Do you remember + Our great love's pure unfolding, + The troth you gave, + And prayed, for God's upholding, + Long and long ago? + + Out of the past + A dream--and then the waking-- + Comes back to me + Of love, and love's forsaking, + Ere the summer waned. + + Ah! Let me dream + That still a little kindness + Dwelt in the smile + That chid my foolish blindness, + When you said good-bye. + + Let me remember + When I am very lonely, + How once your love + But crowned and blessed me only, + Long and long ago. + + +There was no faltering now. The beautiful voice had never been more +touching in its exquisite appeal. All the unutterable sweetness and +humility and faith, the wistful memories, the passion and surrender +that love holds, dwelt in the throbbing notes. + +To Max, standing a little apart, the width of the room betwixt him and +the woman singing, it seemed as though she were entreating him . . . +calling to him. . . . + +The sad, tender words, poignant with regret and infinite beseeching, +clamoured against his heart, and as the last note trembled into +silence, he turned and made his way blindly out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +SACRIFICE + +"_Did you mean it?_" + +Errington's voice broke harshly through the silence of the little +anteroom where Diana waited alone. It had a curious, cracked sound, and +his breath laboured like that of a man who has run himself out. + +For a moment she kept her face hidden, trying to steady herself, but at +last she turned towards him, and in her eyes was a soft shining--a +strange, sweet fire. + +"Max!" The whispered name was hardly audible; tremulous and wistful it +seemed to creep across the room. + +But he heard it. In a moment his arms were round her, and he had +gathered her close against his heart. And so they remained for a space, +neither speaking. + +Presently Diana lifted her head. + +"Max, it was because I loved you so that I was so hard and bitter--only +because I loved you so." + +"I know," was all he said. And he kissed her hair. + +"Do you?"--wistfully. "I wonder if--if a man can understand how a woman +can be so cruel to what she loves?" + +And as he had no answer to this (since, after all, a man cannot be +expected to understand all--or even very much--that a woman does), he +kissed her lips. + +She crept a little nearer to him. + +"Max! Do you still care for me--like that?" There was wonder and +thanksgiving in her voice. "Oh, my dear, I'm down in the dust at your +feet--I've failed you utterly, wronged you every way. Even if you +forgive me, I shall never forgive myself. But I'm--all yours, Max." + +With a sudden jealous movement he folded her more closely in his arms. + +"Let me have a few moments of this," he muttered, a little breathlessly. +"A few moments of thinking you have come back to me." + +"But I _have_ come back to you!" Her eyes grew wide and startled with a +sudden, desperate apprehension. "You won't send me away again--not now?" + +His face twisted with pain. + +"Beloved, I must! God knows how hard it will be--but there is no other +way." + +"No other way?" She broke from his arms, searching his face with her +frightened eyes. "What do you mean? . . . _What do you mean_? Don't +you--care--any longer?" + +He smiled, as a man may who is asked whether the sun will rise to-morrow. + +"Not that, beloved. Never that. I've always cared, and I shall go on +caring through this world and into the next--even though, after to-night, +we may never be together again." + +"Never--together again?" She clung to him. "Oh, why do you say such +things? I can't--I can't live without you now. Max, I'm sorry--_sorry_! +I've been punished enough--don't punish me any more by sending me away +from you." + +"Punish you! Heart's dearest, there has never been any thought of +punishment in my mind. Heaven knows, I've reproached myself bitterly +enough for all the misery I've brought on you." + +"Then why--why do you talk of sending me away?" + +"I'm not going to send you away. It is I who have to go. Oh, beloved! +I ought never to have come here this evening. But I thought if I might +see you--just once again--before I went out into the night, I should at +least have that to remember. . . . And then you sang, and it seemed as +though you were calling me. . . ." + +"Yes," she said very softly. "I called you. I wanted you so." Then, +after a moment, with sudden, womanish curiosity: "How did you know I was +singing here to-night?" + +"Olga told me. She's bitterly opposed to all that I've been doing, +but"--smiling faintly--"she has occasional spasms of compassion, when she +remembers that, after all, I'm a poor devil who's being thrust out of +paradise." + +"She loves you," Diana answered simply. "I think she has loved +you--better--than I did, Max. But not more!" she added jealously. "No +one could love you more, dear." + +After a pause, she asked: + +"I suppose Olga told you that I know--everything?" + +"Yes. I'm glad you know"--quietly. "It makes it easier for me to tell +you why I must go away--out of your life." + +She leaned nearer to him, her hands on his shoulders. + +"Don't go!" she whispered. "Ah, don't go!" + +"I must," he said hoarsely. "Listen, beloved, and then you will see that +there is no other way. . . . I married you, believing that when Nadine +would be safely settled on the throne, I should be free to live my own +life, free to come back to England--and you. If I had not believed that, +I shouldn't have told you that I cared; I should have gone away and never +seen you again. But now--now I know that I shall _never_ be free, never +able to live in England." + +He paused, gathering her a little closer into his arms. + +"Everything is settled. Russia has helped, and Ruvania is ready to +welcome Nadine's return. . . . She is in Paris, now, waiting for me to +take her there. . . . It has been a long and difficult matter, and the +responsibility of Nadine's well-being in England has been immense. A +year ago, the truth as to her identity leaked out somehow--reached our +enemies' ears, and since then I've never really known an instant's peace +concerning her safety. You remember the attack which was made on her +outside the theatre?" + +Diana nodded, shame-faced, remembering its ultimate outcome. + +"Well, the man who shot at her was in the pay of the Republic--German +pay, actually. That yarn about the actor down on his luck was cooked up +for the papers, just to throw dust in the eyes of the public. . . . To +watch over Nadine's safety has been my work. Now the time has come when +she can go back and take her place as Grand Duchess of Ruvania. _And I +must go with her_." + +"No, no. Why need you go? You'll have done your work, set her securely +on the throne. Ah, Max! don't speak of going, dear." Her voice shook +incontrollably. + +"There is other work still to be done, beloved--harder work, man's work. +And I can't turn away and take my shoulder from the wheel. It needs no +great foresight to tell that there is trouble brewing on the Continent; a +very little thing would set the whole of Europe in a blaze. And when +that time arrives, if Ruvania is to come out of the struggle with her +independence unimpaired, it will only be by the utmost effort of all her +sons. Nadine cannot stand alone. What can a woman do unaided when the +nations are fighting for supremacy? The country will need a man at the +helm, and I must stand by Nadine." + +"But why you? Why not another?" + +"No other is under the same compulsion as I. As you know, my father put +his wife first and his country second. It is difficult to blame +him . . . she was very beautiful, my mother. But no man has the right to +turn away from his allotted task. And because my father did that, the +call to me to serve my country is doubly strong. I have to pay back that +of which he robbed her." + +"And have I no claim? Max! Max! Doesn't your love count at all?" + +The sad, grieving words wrung his heart. + +"Why, yes," he said unsteadily. "That's the biggest thing in the +world--our love--isn't it? But this other is a debt of honour, and you +wouldn't want me to shirk that, would you, sweet? I must pay--even if it +costs me my happiness. . . . It may seem to you as though I'd set your +happiness, too, aside. God knows, it hasn't been easy! But what could I +do? I conceive that a man's honour stands before everything. That was +why I let you believe--what you did. My word was given. I couldn't +clear myself. . . . So you see, now, beloved, why we must part." + +"No," she said quietly. "I don't see. Why can't I come to Ruvania with +you?" + +A sudden light leaped into his eyes, but it died away almost instantly. +He shook his head. + +"No, you can't come with me. Because--don't you see, dear?"--very gently +and pitifully. "As my wife, as cousin of the Grand Duchess herself, you +couldn't still be--a professional singer." + +There was a long silence. Slowly Diana drew away from her husband, +staring at him with dilated eyes. + +"Then that--that was what Baroni meant when, he told me a time would come +when your wife could no longer sing in public?" + +Max bent his head. + +"Yes. That was what he meant." + +Diana stood silently clasping and unclasping her hands. Presently she +spoke again, and there was a new note in her voice--a note of quiet +gravity and steadfast decision. + +"Dear, I am coming with you. The singing"--smiling a little +tremulously--"doesn't count--against love." + +Max made a sudden movement as though to take her in his arms, then +checked himself as suddenly. + +"No," he said quietly. "You can't come with me. It would be +impossible--out of the question. You haven't realised all it would +entail. After being a famous singer--to become merely a private +gentlewoman--a lady of a little unimportant Court! The very idea is +absurd. Always you would miss the splendour of your life, the triumphs, +the being feted and made much of--everything that your singing has +brought you. It would be inevitable. And I couldn't endure to see the +regret growing in your eyes day by day. Oh, my dear, don't think I don't +realise the generosity of the thought--and bless you for it a thousand +times! But I won't let you pay with the rest of your life for a +heaven-kind impulse of the moment." + +His words fell on Diana's consciousness, each one weighted with a world +of significance, for she knew, even as she listened, that he spoke but +the bare truth. + +Very quietly she moved away from him and stood by the chimney-piece, +staring down into the grate where the embers lay dying. It seemed to +typify what her life would be, shorn of the glamour with which her +glorious voice had decked it. It would be as though one had plucked out +the glowing heart of a fire, leaving only ashes--dead ashes of +remembrance. + +And in exchange for the joyous freedom of Bohemia, the happy brotherhood +of artistes, there would be the deadly, daily ceremonial of a court, the +petty jealousies and intrigues of a palace! + +Very clearly Diana saw what the choice involved, and with that clear +vision came the realisation that here was a sacrifice which she, who had +so profaned love's temple, could yet make at the foot of the altar. And +within her grew and deepened the certainty that no sacrifice in the world +is too great to make for the sake of love, except the sacrifice of honour. + +Here at last was something she could give to the man she loved. She need +not go to him with empty hands. . . . + +She turned again to her husband, and her eyes were radiant with the same +soft shining that had lit them when he had first come to her in answer to +her singing. + +"Dear," she said, and her voice broke softly. "Take me with you. Oh, +but you must think me very slow and stupid not to have learned--yet--what +love means! . . . Ah, Max! Max! What am I to do, dear, if you won't +let me go with you? What shall I do with all the love that is in my +heart--if you won't take it?" For a moment she stood there tremulously +smiling, while he stared at her, in his eyes a kind of bewilderment and +unbelief fighting the dawn of an unutterable joy. + +Then at last he understood, and his arms went round her. + +"If I won't take it!" he cried, his voice all shaken with the wonder of +it. "Oh, my sweet! I'll take it as a beggar takes a gift, as a blind +man sight--on my knees, thanking God for it--and for you." + +And so Diana came again into her kingdom, whence she had wandered outcast +so many bitter months. + +Presently she drew him down beside her on to a big, cushioned divan. + +"Max, what a lot of time we've wasted!" + +"So much, sweet, that all the rest of life we'll be making up for it." +And he kissed her on the mouth by way of a beginning. + +"What will Baroni say?" she whispered, with a covert smile. + +"He'll wish he was young, as we are, so that he could love--as we do," he +replied triumphantly. + +Diana laughed at him for an arrogant lover, then sighed at a memory she +knew of. + +"I think he _has_ loved--as we do," she chided gently. + +Max's arm tightened round her. + +"Then he's in need of envy, beloved, for love like ours is the most +wonderful thing life has to give." + +They were silent a moment, and then the quick instinct of lovers told +them they were no longer alone. + +Baroni stood on the threshold of the room, frowning heavily. + +"So!" he exclaimed, grimly addressing Max. "This, then, is how you +travel in haste to Paris?" + +Startled, Diana sprang to her feet, and would have drawn herself away, +but Max laughed joyously, and still keeping her hand in his, led her +towards Baroni. + +"_We_ travel to Paris to-morrow," he said. "Won't you--wish us luck, +Baroni?" + +But luck was the last thing which the old _maestro_ was by way of wishing +them. For long he argued and expostulated upon the madness, as he termed +it, of Diana's renouncing her career, trying his utmost to dissuade her. + +"You haf not counted the cost!" he fumed at her. "You cannot haf counted +the cost!" + +But Diana only smiled at him. + +"Yes, I have. And I'm glad it's going to cost me something--a good deal, +in fact--to go back to Max. Don't you see, _Maestro_, it kind of squares +things the tiniest bit?" She paused, adding, after a moment: "And it's +such a little price to pay--for love." + +Baroni, who, after all, knew a good deal about love as well as music, +regarded her a moment in silence. Then, with a characteristic shrug of +his massive shoulders, he yielded. + +"So, then, the most marvellous voice of the century is to be wasted +reading aloud to a Grand Duchess! Ah! Dearest of all my pupils, there +is no folly in all the world at once so foolish and so splendid as the +folly of love." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPLENDID FOLLY*** + + +******* This file should be named 16427.txt or 16427.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/4/2/16427 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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