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.
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