Diana faced her squarely. Despite her feverish desire to wring the truth from the other woman, she had herself well in hand, and when she spoke it was with a certain dignity.
"Don't you think that the time for pretence and hypocrisy has gone by? You know—all that I ought to know. Now that even the newspapers are aware of Max's—and Adrienne's—connection with Ruvania, do you still think it necessary that I, his wife, should be kept in the dark?"
"The newspapers?" Olga spoke with sudden excitement. "How much do they know? What do they say? . . . After all, though," she added more quietly, "it doesn't much matter—now. Everything is settled—for good or ill. But if the papers had got hold of it sooner—"
"Well?" queried Diana coolly, intent on driving her into giving up her knowledge. "What if they had?"
Olga surveyed her ironically.
"What if they had? Only that, if they had, probably you wouldn't have possessed a husband a few hours later. A knife in the back is a quick road out of life, you know."
Diana caught her breath, and her self-command gave way suddenly.
"For God's sake, what do you mean? Tell me—you must tell me—everything, everything! I can't bear it any longer. I know too much—" She broke off with a dry, choking sob.
Olga's face softened.
"You poor child!" she muttered to herself. Then, aloud, she said gently:
"Tell me—how much do you know?"