"
"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_.
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