The Russian's expression answered her. Her face wore a curious stunned look, and her mouth twitched as she tried to control the sudden trembling of her lips.
"Come outside—on to this balcony." Olga spoke with a fierce imperativeness as she saw Diana sway uncertainly and her face whiten.
Once outside in the cool shelter of the balcony, dimly lit by swaying Chinese lanterns, Diana sank into a chair, shaken and unnerved. For an instant her eyes strayed back to where, through the open French window, she could see Max still conversing with the Ambassador, but she averted them swiftly.
The change in him hurt her like the sudden stab of a knife. His face was worn and lined; there was something ascetic-looking in the hollowed line from cheek-bone to chin and in the stern, austere closing of the lips, while the eyes—the mocking blue eyes with the laughter always lurking at the back of them—held an expression of deep, unalterable sadness.
"Olga!" The word broke from Diana's white lips like a cry of appeal, tremulous and uncertain.
But Miss Lermontof made no response. She seemed quite unmoved by the distress of the woman sitting huddled in the chair before her, and her light green eyes shone with a curious savage glint like the eyes of a cat.
Diana spoke again nervously.
"Are you—angry with me?"
"Angry!" The Russian almost spat out the word. "Angry! Don't you see what you're doing?"
"What I'm doing?" repeated Diana. "What am I doing?"