Max laughed her protest aside.
"Well, there's a lot to consult about, you see," he said vaguely.
"So it seems. I shall be glad when it is all finished and I have you to myself again. When will the play be on?"
"About the middle of October," he replied, fidgeting restlessly with the papers that strewed his desk. They were talking in his own particular den, and Diana's eyes ruefully followed the restless gesture.
"I suppose," she said slowly, "you want me to go?"
"Well"—apologetically—"I have a lot to attend to this morning. Will you send Jerry to me—do you mind, dearest?"
"It wouldn't make much difference if I did," she responded grimly, as she went towards the door.
Max looked after her thoughtfully in silence. When she had gone, he leaned his head rather wearily upon his hand.
"It's better so," he muttered. "Better she should think it's only the play that binds me to Adrienne."