She intended to leave the house quite openly the following
morning. That was much the easiest method of running away.
"Shall you require me with you, madam?" asked her maid respectfully.
Diana regarded her thoughtfully. She was an excellent servant and
thoroughly understood maiding a professional singer; moreover, she was
much attached to her mistress. Probably she would be glad of her
services later on.
"Oh, if I should make a long stay, I'll send for you, Milling, and you
can bring on the rest of my things. I shall want some of my concert
gowns the week after next," she told her, in casual tones.
As soon as she had dismissed the girl to her work, Diana made her way
into her husband's study, and, seating herself at his desk, drew a sheet
of notepaper towards her.
She began to write impulsively, as she did everything else:--
"This is just to say good-bye,"--her pen flew over the paper--"I can't
bear our life together any longer, so I'm going away. Perhaps you will
blame me because my faith wasn't equal to the task you set it. But I
don't think any woman's would be--not if she cared at all. And I did
care, Max. It hurts to care as I did--and I'm so tired of being hurt
that I'm running away from it. It will be of no use your asking me to
return, because I have made up my mind never to come back to you again.
I told you that you must choose between Adrienne and me, and you've
chosen--Adrienne.
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