I am going to live with Baroni and his sister, Signora
Evanci. It is all arranged. They are glad to have me, and it will be
much easier for me as regards my singing. So you needn't worry about
me.--But perhaps, you wouldn't have done!
"DIANA.
"P.S.--Please don't be vexed with Jerry for going away. I gave him leave
of absence myself, and I told him I would make it all right with you.--D."
She folded the letter with a curious kind of precision, slipped it into
an envelope, sealed and addressed it, and propped it up against the
inkpot on her husband's desk, so that he could not fail to find it.
Then, when it was time to dress for dinner, she went upstairs and let her
maid put her into an evening frock, exactly as though nothing out of the
ordinary were going on, just as though to-day--the last day she would
ever spend in her husband's home--were no different from any other day.
She made a pretence of eating dinner, and afterwards sat in her own
little sitting-room, with a book in front of her, of which she read not a
single line.
Presently, when she was quite sure that all the servants had gone to bed,
she made a pilgrimage through the house, moving reluctantly from room to
room, taking a silent farewell of the place where she had known such
happiness--and afterwards, such pain.
At last she went to bed, but she felt too restless and keyed up to sleep,
so she slipped into a soft, silken wrapper and established herself in a
big easy-chair by the fire.
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