He shook his head, still with the kind smile in his eyes.
"No. I mean, keep me the little Diana I love—don't let me lose her in the public singer."
"Oh, Pobs!"—reproachfully. "As though I should ever change!"
"Not deliberately—not willingly, I'm sure. But—success is a difficult sea to swim."
He sighed, kissed her upturned face, and then, with twist of his shoulders, pulled on his overcoat and prepared to depart.
Success is exhilarating. It goes to the head like wine, and yet, as Diana lay in bed that night, staring with wide eyes into the darkness, the memory that stood out in vivid relief from amongst the crowded events of the day was not the triumph of the afternoon, nor the merry evening which succeeded it, when "the coming prima donna" had been toasted amid a fusillade of brilliant little speeches and light-hearted laughter, but the remembrance of a pair of passionate, demanding blue eyes and of a low, tense voice saying:—
"I swear I won't fail you. Let me 'stand by.'"
CHAPTER XIV
THE FLAME OF LOVE
Diana's gaze wandered idly over the blue stretch of water, as it lay beneath the blazing August sun, while the sea-gulls, like streaks of white light, wheeled through the shimmering haze of the atmosphere. Her hands were loosely clasped around her knees, and a little evanescent smile played about her lips. Behind her, the great red cliffs of Culver Point reared up against the sapphire of the sky, and she was thinking dreamily of that day, nearly eighteen months ago, when she had been sitting in the self-same place, leaning against the self-same rock, whilst a grey waste of water crept hungrily up to her very feet, threatening to claim her as its prey. And then Errington had come, and straightway all the danger was passed.