"I think you mean to be kind," she said patiently. "But love is a
giving. And I--have nothing to give."
"And you're too proud to take."
"Yes . . . if you call that pride. I can't take--when I've nothing to
give."
"Then you don't love! You don't know what it means to love!
Diana"--Olga's voice rose in passionate entreaty--"for God's sake go to
him! He's suffered so much. Forget what people may think--what even he
may think! Throw your pride overboard and remember only that he loves
you and has need of you. _Go to him_!"
She ceased, and her eyes implored Diana's. No matter what may have been
her shortcomings--and they were many, for she was a hard, embittered
woman--at least, in her devotion to her brother, Olga Lermontof
approached very nearly to the heroic.
There was a long silence. At last Diana spoke in low, shaken tones, her
head bowed.
"I can't!" she whispered. "I shall never forgive myself. And I can't
ask Max to--forgive me. . . . He couldn't." The last words were hardly
audible.
For a moment Olga stood quite still, gazing with hard eyes at the slight
figure hunched into drooping lines of utter weariness. Once her lips
moved, but no sound came. Then she turned away, walking with lagging
footsteps, and a minute later the door opened and closed quietly again
behind her.
CHAPTER XXVII
CARLO BARONI EXPLAINS
Diana sat on, very still, very silent, staring straight in front of her
with wide, tearless eyes.
Pages:
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309