“Well, I think you did make yourself—­very useful—­last night, didn’t you?”

“Oh, that!” Jerry shrugged his shoulders.  Then, surveying her critically, he added:  “You look awfully tired this morning, Di!”

She did.  There were purple shadows beneath her eyes, and her face looked white and drawn.  The previous evening had been the occasion of her reception, and she had carried it pluckily through single-handed.  Quiet and composed, she had moved about amongst her guests, covering Max’s absence with a light touch and pretty apology, her demeanour so natural and unembarrassed that the tongues, which would otherwise have wagged swiftly enough, were inevitably stilled.

But the strain had told upon her.  This morning she looked haggard and ill, more fit to be in bed than anything else.

“Oh, I shall be all right after a night’s rest,” she answered cheerfully.  “And as to making yourself useful there’s really nothing I want you to do for me.  But I do want you to go and make your peace with your father, and take Joan to him.  I’m sure he’ll love her!  So I’m writing to Max telling him that I’ve given you leave of absence.  He won’t be returning till Saturday at the earliest, and probably not then.  If he wants you back on Monday, we’ll wire.”

Jerry hesitated.

“Are you sure it will be quite all right?  I don’t really like leaving you.”

“Quite all right,” she assured him.  “I did want you for the party last night, and you were the greatest possible help to me.  But now, I don’t want you a bit for anything.  If you’re quick, you can catch the two o’clock down express and”—­twinkling—­“see Joan this evening.”

“Diana, you’re a brick!” And Jerry dashed upstairs to pack his suit-case.

Diana heaved a sigh of relief when, a few hours later, a triumphant and joyous Jerry departed in search of a bride.  She wanted him out of the house, for that which she had decided to do would be more easily accomplished without the boy’s honest, affectionate eyes beseeching her.

All her arrangements were completed, and to-morrow—­to-morrow she was going to leave Lilac Lodge for ever.  Never again would she share the life of the man who had shown her clearly that, although she was his wife, she counted with him so infinitely less than that other—­than Adrienne de Gervais.  Her pride might break in the leaving, but it would bend to living under the same roof with him no longer.

Only one thing still remained—­to write a letter to her husband and leave it in his study for him to find upon his return.  It savoured a little of the theatrical, she reflected, but there seemed no other way possible.  She didn’t want Max to come in search of her, so she must make it clear to him that she was leaving him deliberately and with no intention of ever returning.

She had told the servants that she was going away on a few days’ visit, and after Jerry’s departure she gave her maid instructions concerning her packing.  She intended to leave the house quite openly the following morning.  That was much the easiest method of running away.