It is I who have to go. Oh, beloved!
I ought never to have come here this evening. But I thought if I might
see you--just once again--before I went out into the night, I should at
least have that to remember. . . . And then you sang, and it seemed as
though you were calling me. . . ."
"Yes," she said very softly. "I called you. I wanted you so." Then,
after a moment, with sudden, womanish curiosity: "How did you know I was
singing here to-night?"
"Olga told me. She's bitterly opposed to all that I've been doing,
but"--smiling faintly--"she has occasional spasms of compassion, when she
remembers that, after all, I'm a poor devil who's being thrust out of
paradise."
"She loves you," Diana answered simply. "I think she has loved
you--better--than I did, Max. But not more!" she added jealously. "No
one could love you more, dear."
After a pause, she asked:
"I suppose Olga told you that I know--everything?"
"Yes. I'm glad you know"--quietly. "It makes it easier for me to tell
you why I must go away--out of your life."
She leaned nearer to him, her hands on his shoulders.
"Don't go!" she whispered. "Ah, don't go!"
"I must," he said hoarsely. "Listen, beloved, and then you will see that
there is no other way. . . . I married you, believing that when Nadine
would be safely settled on the throne, I should be free to live my own
life, free to come back to England--and you.
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