Diana bestowed her sweetest smile upon him.

“Then we shall be dining tete-a-tete.  How nice!  Come along.”

She took his arm and they went in together.

“This is a very serious thing about Miss de Gervais, isn’t it?” she said conversationally, as they sat down.

“A dastardly business,” assented Jerry, with indignation.

“I suppose—­did Max give you any further particulars?”

“The bullet’s broken her arm just above the elbow.  Of course she won’t be able to play for some time to come.”

“How her understudy must be rejoicing,” murmured Diana reflectively.

“It seems,” pursued Jerry, “that the shot was fired by some shady actor fellow.  Down on his luck, you know, and jealous of Miss de Gervais’ success.  At least, that’s what they suspect, and Max has ’phoned me to send a paragraph to all the morning papers to that effect.”

“That’s very curious,” commented Diana.

“Why?  I should think it’s a jolly good guess.”

Diana smiled enigmatically.

“Anyhow, it sounds a very natural supposition,” she agreed lightly, and then switched the conversation on to other subjects.  Jerry, however, seemed rather absent and distrait, and presently, when at last the servants had handed the coffee and withdrawn, he blurted out:—­

“It sounds beastly selfish of me, but this affair has upset my own little plans rather badly.”

“Yours, Jerry?” said Diana kindly.  “How’s that?  Give me a cigarette and tell me what’s gone wrong.”

“What would Baroni say to your smoking?” queried Jerry, as he tendered his case and held a match for her to light her cigarette.

“I’m not singing anywhere for a week,” laughed Diana.  “So this orgy is quite legitimate.”  And she inhaled luxuriously.  “Now, go on, Jerry, what plans of yours have been upset?”

“Well”—­Jerry reddened—­“I wrote to my governor the other day.  It—­it was to please Joan, you know.”

Diana nodded, her grey eyes dancing.

“Of course,” she said gravely, “I quite understand.”

“And—­and here’s his answer!”

He opened his pocket-book, and extracting a letter from the bundle it contained, handed it to Diana.

“You mean you want me to read this?”

“Please.”

Diana unfolded it, and read the following terse communication:—­

“Come home and bring the lady.  Am fattening the calf.—­Your affectionate Father.”

“Jerry, I should adore your father,” said Diana, as she gave him back the letter.  “He must he a perfect gem amongst parents.”

“He’s not a bad old chap,” acknowledged Jerry, as he replaced the paternal invitation in his pocket-book.  “But you see the difficulty?  I was going to ask Errington to give me a few days’ leave, and I don’t like to bother him now that he has all this worry about Miss de Gervais on his hands.”