John and Di exchanged no word as they drove home. There were lights and a fire in the music-room, and she went in there, and began absently to take off her hat and long crêpe veil. Mrs. Courtenay had gone to bed.
John followed Di with a candle in his hand. He offered it to her, but she did not take it.
"It is good-bye as well as good night," he said, holding out his hand. "I must leave here very early to-morrow."
Di took no notice of his outstretched hand. She was looking into the fire.
"You must rest," he said gently, trying to recall her to herself.
A swift tremor passed over her face.
"You are right," she said, in a low voice. "I will rest—when I have had five minutes' talk with you."
John shut the door, and came back to the fireside. He believed he knew what was coming, and his face hardened. It was bitter to him that Di thought it worth while to speak to him on the subject. She ought to have known him better.
She faced him with difficulty, but without hesitation. They looked each other in the eyes.