"This is the explanation of your desire to make my acquaintance," he said in a changed voice.
She was so frightened that she seemed to hear her own heartbeats. "The boy's name is Gayne. Herbert Loring Gayne," she went on, desperately.
"Miss Wilbur, you have ventured in where angels would fear to tread," said the sick man sternly, "but you awake no memory. That room where you intrude is bare and empty. You—"
"He is talented," pleaded Diana. "Very talented as an artist. Any family might be proud to own him and bring him out of a cellar into the sunshine. Think of the interest in life it would give you. Think it over, Cousin Herbert. Just be willing to see him once—"
While she was talking, her companion touched the bell on the table beside him and the words died on her lips as the valet came into the room.
"I am tired, Marlitt," said the invalid huskily. "Miss Wilbur is ready to go." His head fell back against a down pillow. "Pardon my not attending you to the door," he added, ignoring the girl's wet-eyed confusion. She gathered herself together and rose.
"Thank you for allowing me to come in," she said, inclining her head; then she turned toward the door which Marlitt held open.
She continued to hold her head high until she reached her own apartment, where Mrs. Lowell was waiting. The latter started to her feet as she viewed her friend's entrance and noted her excited color and trembling lips.
Diana succeeded in uttering one word, "Hopeless," then she succumbed into Mrs. Lowell's arms and fell into wild weeping on her shoulder.