Part 39 (2/2)
Errington's brows came sharply together. He drew a quick, short breath as though bracing himself to meet some unforeseen danger.
”I've written a play for her,” he answered shortly.
”Yes, I know. But is that all that there is between you--this play?”
”I can't answer that question,” he replied quietly.
Diana flung out her hand with a sudden, pa.s.sionate gesture.
”You've answered it, I think,” she said scornfully.
He took a quick stride towards her, catching her by the arms.
”Diana”--his voice vibrated--”won't you trust me?”
”Trust you! How can I?” she broke out wildly. ”If trusting you means standing by whilst Adrienne-- Oh, I can't bear it. You're asking too much of me, Max. I didn't know . . . when you asked me to trust you . . . that it meant--_this_! . . . And there's something else, too. Who are you? What is your real name? I don't even know”--bitterly--”whom I've married!”
He released her suddenly, almost as though she had struck him.
”Who has been talking to you?” he demanded, thickly.
”_Then it's true_?”
Diana's hands fell to her sides and every drop of colour drained away from her face. The question had been lying dormant in her mind ever since the day when Olga Lermontof had first implanted it there. Now it had sprung from her lips, dragged forth by the emotion of the moment.
_And he couldn't answer it_!
”Then it's true?” she repeated.
Errington's face set like a mask.
”That is a question you shouldn't have asked,” he replied coldly.
”And one you cannot answer?”
He bent his head.
”And one I cannot answer.”
Very slowly she picked up her wraps.
”Thank you,” she said unsteadily. ”I'll--I'll go now.”
He laid his hand deliberately on the door-handle.
”No,” he said. ”No, you won't go. I've heard what you have to say; now you'll listen to me. Good G.o.d, Diana!” he continued pa.s.sionately.
”Do you think I'm going to stand quietly by and see our happiness wrecked?”
<script>