She lay long awake, gazing into the dark, dreamily conscious of utter
peace and calm. To-morrow . . . to-morrow . . . Freely her eyes
closed and she slept. Once she stirred and smiled a little in her
sleep while the word "Max" fluttered from between her lips, almost as
though it had been a prayer.
CHAPTER XXV
BREAKING-POINT
When Diana woke the following morning it was to a drowsy sense of utter
peace and content. She wondered vaguely what had given rise to it.
Usually, when she came back to the waking world, it was with a shrinking
almost akin to terror that a new day had begun and must be lived
through--twelve empty, meaningless hours of it.
As full consciousness returned, the remembrance of yesterday's meeting
with Max, and of all that had succeeded it, flashed into her mind like a
sudden ray of sunlight, and she realised that what had tinged her
thoughts with rose-colour was the quiet happiness, bred of her
determination to return to her husband, which had lain stored at the back
of her brain during the hours of unconsciousness.
She sat up in bed, vividly, joyously awake, just as her maid came in with
her breakfast tray.
"Make haste, Milling," she exclaimed, a thrill of eager excitement in her
voice. "It's a lovely morning, and there's so much going to happen
to-day that I can't waste any time over breakfast."
It was the old, impetuous Diana who spoke, impulsively carried away by
the emotion of the moment.
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