"
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE AWAKENING
Somehow the interminable hours of the day had at last worn to evening,
and Diana found herself standing in front of a big mirror, listlessly
watching Milling as she bustled round her, putting the last touches to
her dress for the Duchess of Linfield's reception. The same thing had
to be gone through every concert night--the same patient waiting while
the exquisite toilette, appropriate to a _prima donna_, was consummated
by Milling's clever fingers.
Only, this evening, every nerve in Diana's body was quivering in
rebellion.
What was it Olga had said? "_Max is leaving England to-night._" So,
while she was being dressed like a doll for the pleasuring of the
people who had paid to hear her sing, Max was being borne away out of
her ken, out of her existence for ever.
What a farce it all seemed! In a little while she would be singing as
perfectly as usual, bowing and smiling as usual, and not one amongst
the crowded audience would know that in reality it was only the husk of
a woman who stood there before them--the mere outer shell. All that
mattered, the heart and soul of her, was dead. She knew that quite
well. Probably she would feel glad about it in time, she thought,
because when one was dead things didn't hurt any more. It was dying
that hurt. . . .
"Your train, madam."
She started at the sound of Milling's respectful voice.
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