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.
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