"
Diana nodded, and, without further remark, went away in search of her
husband.
"Are you busy, Max?" she asked, pausing on the threshold of the room
where he was working.
He rose at once, placing a chair for her with the chilly courtesy which
he had accorded her since their last interview in this same room.
"Not too busy to attend to you," he replied. "Where will you sit? By
the fire?"
Diana shook her head. She was a little flushed, and her eyes were
bright with some suppressed excitement,
"No thanks," she replied. "I only came to tell you that I've been
having a talk with Baroni about my voice, and--and that I've decided to
begin singing again this winter--professionally, I mean. It seems a
pity to waste any more time."
She spoke rapidly, and with a certain nervousness.
For an instant a look of acute pain leaped into Errington's eyes, but
it was gone almost at once, and he turned to her composedly.
"Is that the only reason, Diana?" he said. "The waste of time?"
She was silent a moment, busying herself stripping off her gloves.
Presently she looked up, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
"No," she said steadily. "It isn't."
"May I know the--other reasons?"
Her lip curled.
"I should have thought they were obvious. Our marriage has been a
mistake. It's a failure. And I can't bear this life any longer. . . .
I must have something to do.
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