"Yes, I do. You warned me—didn't you?—that there would be things you couldn't explain. I suppose"—bitterly—"this is one of them!"
"No, it is not. I can explain this. I didn't intend coming to-night, as I told you. But Miss de Gervais rang up from the theatre and begged me to come, so, of course, as she wished it—"
"'As she wished it!' Are her wishes, then, of so much more importance than mine?"
Errington was silent for a moment. At last he replied quietly:—
"You know they are not. But in this case, in the matter of the play, she is entitled to every consideration."
Diana's eyes searched his face. Beneath the soft laces of her gown her breast still rose and fell stormily, but she had herself in hand now.
"Max, when I married you I took . . . something . . . on trust." She spoke slowly, weighing her words, "But I didn't expect that something to include—Adrienne! What has she to do with you?"
Errington's brows came sharply together. He drew a quick, short breath as though bracing himself to meet some unforeseen danger.
"I've written a play for her," he answered shortly.
"Yes, I know. But is that all that there is between you—this play?"