"The bullet's broken her arm just above the elbow. Of course she won't be able to play for some time to come."
"How her understudy must be rejoicing," murmured Diana reflectively.
"It seems," pursued Jerry, "that the shot was fired by some shady actor fellow. Down on his luck, you know, and jealous of Miss de Gervais' success. At least, that's what they suspect, and Max has 'phoned me to send a paragraph to all the morning papers to that effect."
"That's very curious," commented Diana.
"Why? I should think it's a jolly good guess."
Diana smiled enigmatically.
"Anyhow, it sounds a very natural supposition," she agreed lightly, and then switched the conversation on to other subjects. Jerry, however, seemed rather absent and distrait, and presently, when at last the servants had handed the coffee and withdrawn, he blurted out:—
"It sounds beastly selfish of me, but this affair has upset my own little plans rather badly."
"Yours, Jerry?" said Diana kindly. "How's that? Give me a cigarette and tell me what's gone wrong."
"What would Baroni say to your smoking?" queried Jerry, as he tendered his case and held a match for her to light her cigarette.