Feverishly Diana sprang out of bed and began to dress, flinging on her clothes in a very frenzy of haste. She would see Olga, and beg, pray, beseech her, if necessary, to tell her all she knew.
If she failed, if the Russian woman obstinately denied her, she would know no peace of mind—no rest. She felt she had reached breaking-point—she could endure no more.
But she would not fail. When Olga came—and she would be here soon, very soon now—she would play up the knowledge she had gleaned from the newspaper for all it was worth, and she would force the truth from her, willing or unwilling.
Whether that truth spelt heaven, or the utter, final wrecking of all her life, she must know it.
CHAPTER XXVI
THE REAPING
Half an hour later Diana descended to the big music-room, where she usually rehearsed, to find Olga Lermontof already awaiting her there.
By a sheer effort of will she had fought down the storm of emotion which had threatened to overwhelm her, and now, as she greeted her accompanist, she was quite cool and composed, though rather pale and with tired shadows beneath her eyes.
There was something almost unnatural in her calm, and the shrewd Russian eyed her with a sudden apprehension. This was not the same woman whom she had left last night, thrilling and softly tremulous with love.
She began speaking quickly, an undercurrent of suppressed excitement in her tones.