"Tout passé, tout lasse."
Diana knew that she had been sending her song out into the night as a message to Jim in the garden. She thought of the unacknowledged sense of comfort that Lady Elizabeth experienced when Jim came to visit them. Without him, what would the days be? She shuddered at the desolation it might mean to be without this reliant, forceful friend. As it all flashed through her mind, she said:
"You have one triumphant quality, Jim. Whether it will add to your sum of suffering or compensate for all the rest, who knows? You have one inevitable success."
She paused, but the rustling of the tree-tops prevented either of them from hearing Henry as he came from the pergola. Diana moved a step nearer to Jim—Henry did not make known his presence. Quite simply and sincerely she said:
"You will always have the love of women, Jim."
Something snapped in Jim's brain. He stood hypnotized by a stronger force than his own will; he could not speak. Henry's voice sounded like the cracked clang of a jarring bell in a golden silence.
"That's a dangerous gift, Jim. Professional heart-breakers ought not to be allowed in other people's preserves."
Henry spoke quietly, but he was consumed by a mad, unreasoning fury. Diana simply said, "Oh, I was just trying to tease Jim about Sadie Jones."
Jim started towards the house, intending to leave Di with Henry. "Teasing—a ruthless grilling, I call it. I've been vivisected, Henry; it's not a pleasant experience, believe me."
But Henry, who was looking from Diana to Jim, with unmistakable meaning, said, "You stopped at an interesting—perhaps a critical—moment, Diana. I suppose I ought to beg your pardon. Where lovers are involved, the husband is an intrusion, almost an impertinence."