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.
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