“But you must!”—­impetuously.

“It’s impossible.  I shall stay with Adrienne and Mrs. Adams until I’m quite sure that the place is safe for them—­that that fellow hasn’t traced them and isn’t lurking about in the neighbourhood.  You mustn’t expect me back before Saturday at the earliest.  You and Jerry can manage the reception.  I hate those big crowds, as you know.”

For a moment Diana sat in stony silence.  So he intended to leave her to entertain half London—­that half of London that mattered and would talk about it—­while he spent a pleasant week philandering down in the country with Adrienne de Gervais, under the aegis of Mrs. Adams’ chaperonage!

Very slowly Diana rose to her feet.  Her small face was white and set, her little pointed chin thrust out, and her grey eyes were almost black with the intense anger that gripped her.

“Do you mean this?” she asked collectedly.

“Why, of course.  Don’t you see that I must, Diana?  I can’t let Adrienne run a risk like that.”

“But you can subject your wife to an insult like that without thinking twice about it!”—­contemptuously.  “It hasn’t occurred to you, I suppose, what people will say when they find that I have been left entirely alone to entertain our friends, while my husband passes a pleasant week in the country with Miss de Gervais, and her—­chaperon?  It’s an insult to our guests as well as to me.  But I quite understand.  I, and my friends, simply don’t count when Adrienne de Gervais wants you.”

“I can’t help it,” he answered stubbornly, her scorn moving him less than the waves that break in a shower of foam at the foot of a cliff.  “You knew you would have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” cried Diana, shaken out of her composure.  “Yes!  But I never promised to stand trustingly by while you put another woman in my place.  This is the end, Max.  I’ve had enough.”

A sudden look of apprehension dawned in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” he asked sharply.

“What do I mean?”—­bleakly.  “Oh, nothing.  I never do mean anything, do I? . . .  Well, good-bye.  I expect you’ll have left the house before I come down to-morrow morning.  I hope . . . you’ll enjoy your visit to the country.”

She waited a moment, as though expecting some reply; then, as he neither stirred nor spoke, she went quickly out of the room, closing the door behind her.

CHAPTER XXII

THE PARTING OF THE WAYS

“Jerry”—­Diana came into her husband’s study, where his secretary, who had nothing further to do until his employer’s return, was pottering about putting the bookshelves to rights, “Jerry, I’m going to give you a holiday.  You can go down to Crailing to-day.”

Jerry turned round in surprise.

“But, I say, Diana, I can’t, you know—­not while Max is away.  I’m supposed to make myself useful to you.”