As Diana drove back in a taxi to Brutton Square she was conscious of a queer sense of disappointment in the outcome of her meeting with Max Errington.  It had been so utterly different from anything she had expected—­quite commonplace and ordinary, exactly as though they had been no more than the most casual acquaintances.

She hardly knew what she had actually anticipated.  Certainly, she told herself irritably, she could not have expected him to have treated her with marked warmth of manner in the presence of others, and therefore his behaviour had been just what the circumstances demanded.  But, notwithstanding the assurance she gave herself that this was the common-sense view to take of the matter, she had an instinctive feeling that, even had there been no one else to consider, Errington’s manner would still have shown no greater cordiality.  For some reason he had decided to lock the door on the past, and the polite friendly indifference with which he had treated her was intended to indicate quite clearly the attitude he proposed to adopt.

She supposed he repented that brief, vivid moment in the car, and wished her to understand that it held no significance—­that it was merely a chance incident in this world where one amuses oneself as occasion offers.  Presumably he feared that, not being a woman of the world, she might attach a deeper meaning to it than the circumstances warranted, and was anxious to set her right on that point.

Her pride rose in revolt.  Olga Lermontof’s words returned to her mind with fresh enlightenment:  “I shouldn’t allow myself to become too interested in him, if I were you.”  Surely she had intended this as a friendly warning to Diana not to take anything Max Errington might do or say very seriously!

Well, there would be no danger of that in the future; she had learned her lesson and would take care to profit by it.

CHAPTER X

MISS LERMONTOF’S ADVICE

As Diana entered the somewhat dingy hall at 34 Brutton Square on her return from visiting Adrienne, the first person she encountered was Olga Lermontof.  She still retained her dislike of the accompanist and was preparing to pass by with a casual remark upon the coldness of the weather, when something in the Russian’s pale, fatigued face arrested her.

“How frightfully tired you look!” she exclaimed, pausing on the staircase as the two made their way up together.

“I am, rather,” returned Miss Lermontof indifferently.  “I’ve been playing accompaniments all afternoon, and I’ve had no tea.”

Diana hesitated an instant, then she said impulsively—­“Oh, do come into my room and let me make you a cup.”

Olga Lermontof regarded her with a faint surprise.

“Thanks,” she said in her abrupt way.  “I will.”

A cheerful little fire was burning in the grate, and the room presented a very comfortable and home-like appearance, for Diana had added a couple of easy-chairs and several Liberty cushions to its somewhat sparse furniture.  A heavy curtain, hung in front of the door to exclude draughts, gave an additional cosy touch, and fresh flowers adorned both chimney-piece and table.