“You forget,” he said quietly.  “Afterwards—­I transgressed.  And you let me see that the transgression had wiped out my meritorious deeds—­completely.  It was quite the best thing that could happen,” he added hastily, as she would have spoken.  “I had no right, less right than any man on earth, to do—­what I did.  I abide by your decision.”

The last words came slowly, meaningly.  He was politely telling her that any overtures of friendship would be rejected.

Diana’s pride lay in the dust, but she was determined he should not knew it.  With her head held high, she said stiffly:—­

“I don’t think I’ll wait any longer for Adrienne.  Will you tell her, please, that I’ve gone back to Brutton Square?”

“Brutton Square?” he repeated swiftly.  “Do you live there?”

“Yes.  Have you any objection?”

He disregarded her mocking query and continued:—­

“A Miss Lermontof lives there.  Is she, by any chance, a friend of yours?” There seemed a hint of disapproval in his voice, and Diana countered, with another question.

“Why?  Do you think I ought not to be friends with her?”

“I?  Oh, I don’t think about it at all”—­with a little half-foreign shrug of his shoulders.  “Miss Quentin’s choice of friends is no concern of mine.”

Unbidden, tears leaped into Diana’s eyes at the cold satirical tones.  Surely, surely he had hurt her enough, for one day!  Without a word she turned and made her way blindly out of the room and down the stairs.  In the hall she almost ran into Jerry’s arms.

“Oh, are you going?” he asked, in tones of disappointment.

“Yea, I’m afraid I mustn’t wait any longer for Adrienne.  I have some work to do when I get back.”

Her voice shook a little, and Jerry, giving her a swift glance, could see that her lashes were wet and her eyes misty with tears.

“The brute!” he ejaculated mentally.  “What’s he done to her?”

Aloud he merely said:—­

“Will you have a taxi?”

She nodded, and hailing one that chanced to be passing, he put her carefully into it.

“And—­and I say,” he said anxiously.  “You didn’t mind my talking to you this afternoon, did you, Miss Quentin?  I made ‘rather free,’ as the servants say.”

“No, of course I didn’t mind,” she replied warmly, her spirits rising a little.  He was such a nice boy—­the sort of boy one could be pals with.  “You must come and see me at Brutton Square.  Come to tea one day, will you?”

“Won’t I?” he said heartily.  “Good-bye.”  And the taxi swept away down the street.

Jerry returned to the drawing-room to find Errington staring moodily out of the window.

“I say, Max,” he said, affectionately linking his arm in that of the older man.  “What had you been saying to upset that dear little person?”

“I?”

“Yes.  She was—­crying.”