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.
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