that you were as far removed from
me as the sun itself. Diana--beloved--can't you trust me over this one
thing? Isn't your love strong enough for that?"

She turned on him passionately.

"Oh, you are unfair to me--cruelly unfair! You ask me to trust you!
And your very asking implies that you cannot trust _me_!"

There was bitter anger in her voice.

"I know it looks like that," he said wearily. "And I can't explain. I
can only ask you to believe in me and trust me. I thought . . .
perhaps . . . you loved me enough to do it." His mouth twitched with a
little smile, half sad, half ironical. "My usual presumption, I
suppose."

She made no answer, but after a moment asked abruptly:--

"Does this--this secret concern only you?"

"That I cannot tell you. I can't answer any questions. If--if you
come to me, it must be in absolute blind trust." He paused, his eyes
entreating her. "Is it . . . too much to ask?"

Diana was silent, looking away from him across the water. The sun
slipped behind a cloud, and a grey shadow spread like a blight over the
summer sea. It lay leaden and dull, tufted with little white crests of
foam.

The man and woman stood side by side, motionless, unresponsive. It was
as though a sword had suddenly descended, cleaving them asunder.

Presently she heard him mutter in a low tone of anguish:--

"So this--this, too--must be added to the price!"

The pain in his voice pulled at her heart. She stretched out her hands
towards him.

"Max! Give me time!"

He wheeled round, and the tense look of misery in his face hurt her
almost physically.

"What do you mean?" he asked hoarsely.

"I must have time to think. Husband and wife ought to be one.
What--what happiness can there be if . . . if we marry . . . like this?"

He bent his head.

"None--unless you can have faith. There can be no happiness for us
without that."

He took a sudden step towards her.

"Oh, my dear, my dear! I love you so!"

Diana began to cry softly--helpless, pathetic, weeping, like a child's.

"And--and I thought we were so happy," she sobbed. "Now it's all
spoiled and broken. And you've spoilt it!"

"Don't!" he said unsteadily. "Don't cry like that. I can't stand it."

He made an instinctive movement to take her in his arms, but she
slipped aside, turning on him in sudden, passionate reproach.

"Why did you try and make me love you when you knew . . . all this? I
was quite happy before y