Then he turned and laid his hands on Diana's shoulders, gazing searchingly into her face.
"Have you felt—anything of what that paragraph suggests?" he demanded. "Am I taking too much from you, Diana? I love to keep you to myself—not to have to share you with the world, but I won't stand in your light, or hold you back if you wish to go—not even"—with a wry smile—"if it should mean your absence on a tour."
"Silly boy!" Diana patted his head reprovingly. "I don't want to sing in public—at least, not now, not yet. Later on, I dare say, I shall like to take it up again. And as for leaving you and going on tour"—laughingly—"the latter half of the paragraph should serve as a warning to me not to think of such a thing!"
To her surprise Max did not laugh with her. Instead, he answered coldly:—
"I hope you have more sense than to pay attention to what any damned newspaper may have to say about me—or about Miss de Gervais either."
"Why, Max,—Max—"
Diana stared at him in dismay, flushing a little. It was the first time he had spoken harshly to her since their marriage.
In an instant he had caught her in his arms, passionately repentant.
"Dearest, forgive me! It was only—only that you are bound to read such things, and it angered me for a moment. Miss de Gervais and I see too much of each other to escape all comment."
Diana withdrew herself slowly from his arms.