Lord Hemsworth clutched blindly at the arms of the chair.
"I would wait any time."
Di shook her head.
"Any time," he stammered. "Go away for a year, and—come back."
"It would be no good."
Then he lost his head.
"So long as you don't care for any one else," he said incoherently. "I thought at the carnival—that is why I have kept out of the way—but I met Tempest to-day at the Carlton, and—I asked him straight out, and he said there was nothing between you and him. I suppose you have refused him, like the rest of us. Oh, my God, Di, they say you have no heart! But it isn't true, is it? Don't refuse me. Don't make me live without you. I've tried for three months"—and Lord Hemsworth's face worked—"and if you knew what it was like, you wouldn't send me back to it."
Every vestige of colour had faded from Di's face at the mention of John.
"I don't care enough for you to marry you," she said, pitiless in her great pity. "I wish I did, but—I don't."
"Do you care for any one else?"