Whether that truth spelt heaven, or the utter, final wrecking of all her
life, she must know it.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE REAPING
Half an hour later Diana descended to the big music-room, where she
usually rehearsed, to find Olga Lermontof already awaiting her there.
By a sheer effort of will she had fought down the storm of emotion which
had threatened to overwhelm her, and now, as she greeted her accompanist,
she was quite cool and composed, though rather pale and with tired
shadows beneath her eyes.
There was something almost unnatural in her calm, and the shrewd Russian
eyed her with a sudden apprehension. This was not the same woman whom
she had left last night, thrilling and softly tremulous with love.
She began speaking quickly, an undercurrent of suppressed excitement in
her tones.
"There's some mistake, isn't there? You don't want me--this morning?"
Diana regarded her composedly.
"Certainly I want you--to rehearse for to-night."
"To rehearse? Rehearse?" Olga's voice rose in a sharp crescendo of
amazement. "Surely"--bending forward to peer into Diana's face--"surely
you are not going to keep Max waiting while you--_rehearse_?"
"It's impossible for us to meet to-day," replied Diana steadily. "I
had--forgotten--the Duchess's reception."
Olga made a gesture of impatience.
"But you must meet to-day," she said imperiously. "You _must_!
To-morrow it will be too late.
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