"_A well-known dramatist and the popular actress so closely
associated with his works_"--why, to any one with the most superficial
knowledge of plays and players of the moment, it was as obvious as though
the names had been written in capitals.
Max and Adrienne! Their identities linked together and woven into a
fresh tissue of mystery and innuendo!
Diana smiled a little at the suggestion that Max might be the son of a
royal duke. It was so very far-fetched--fantastic in the extreme.
And then, all at once, she remembered Olga's significant query of long
ago: "_Have you ever asked him who he is?_" and Max's stern refusal to
answer the question when she had put it to him.
At the time it had only given an additional twist to the threads of the
intolerable web of mystery which had enmeshed her married life. But now
it suddenly blazed out like a beacon illumining the dark places.
Supposing it were true--supposing Max _had_ been masquerading under
another name all the time--then this suggestive little paragraph
contained a clue from which she might perhaps unravel the whole hateful
mystery.
Her brows drew together as she puzzled over the matter. This history of
a morganatic marriage--it held a faint ring of familiarity. Vaguely she
recollected having heard the story of some royal duke who had married an
Englishwoman many years ago.
For a few minutes she racked her brain, unable to place the incident.
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