Olga turned away.

“I can’t wish you success,” she said bitterly.  “The day that brings you success will be the blackest hour of my life.”

Errington’s face softened a little.

“Olga, you are unreasonable—­”

“Unreasonable, am I?  Because I grudge paying for the sins of others? . . .  If that is unreasonable—­yes, then, I am unreasonable!  Now, go.  Go, and remember, Max, we are on opposite sides of the camp.”

Errington paused at the door.

“So long as you keep your honour—­our honour—­clean,” he said, “do what you like!  I have utter, absolute trust in Diana.”

CHAPTER XIX

THE “FIRST NIGHT” PERFORMANCE

The curtain fell amidst a roar of applause, and the lights flashed up over the auditorium once more.  It was the first night performance of “Mrs. Fleming’s Husband,” and the house was packed with the usual crowd of first-nighters, critics, and members of “the” profession who were anxious to see Miss de Gervais in the new part Max Errington had created for her.

Diana and Joan Stair were in a box, escorted only by Jerry, since Max had firmly refused to come down to the theatre for the first performance.

“I can’t stand first nights,” he had said.  “At least, not of my own plays.”  And not even Diana’s persuasions had availed to move him from this decision.

Joan was ecstatic in her praise.

“Isn’t Adrienne simply wonderful?” she exclaimed, as the music of the entr’acte stole out from the hidden orchestra.

“’M, yes.”  Diana’s reply lacked enthusiasm.

Joan, if she could not boast great powers of intuition, was dowered with a keen observation, and she had not spent a week at Lilac Lodge without putting two and two together and making four of them.  She had noticed a great change in Diana.  The girl was moody and unusually silent; her gay good spirits had entirely vanished, and more than once Joan had caught her regarding her husband with a curious mixture of resentment and contempt in her eyes.  Joan was frankly worried over the state of affairs.

“Why this nil admirari attitude?” she asked.  “Have you and Adrienne quarrelled?”

“Quarrelled?” Diana raised her brows ever so slightly.  “What should we quarrel about?  As a matter of fact, I really don’t see very much of her nowadays.”

“So I imagined,” replied Joan calmly.  “When I stayed with you last May, either she came to the Lodge, or you went to Somervell Street, every day of the week.  This time, you’ve not seen each other since I came.”

“No?  I don’t think”—­lightly—­“that Adrienne cares much for members of her own sex.  She prefers—­their husbands.”

Joan stared in amazement.  The little acid speech was so unlike Diana that she felt convinced it sprang from some new and strong antagonism towards the actress.  What could be the cause of it?  Diana and Adrienne had been warm friends only a few months ago!