t had appeared across and across, flinging
the pieces into the grate.

Then he turned and laid his hands on Diana's shoulders, gazing
searchingly into her face.

"Have you felt--anything of what that paragraph suggests?" he demanded.
"Am I taking too much from you, Diana? I love to keep you to myself--not
to have to share you with the world, but I won't stand in your light, or
hold you back if you wish to go--not even"--with a wry smile--"if it
should mean your absence on a tour."

"Silly boy!" Diana patted his head reprovingly. "I don't _want_ to sing
in public--at least, not now, not yet. Later on, I dare say, I shall
like to take it up again. And as for leaving you and going on
tour"--laughingly--"the latter half of the paragraph should serve as a
warning to me not to think of such a thing!"

To her surprise Max did not laugh with her. Instead, he answered
coldly:--

"I hope you have more sense than to pay attention to what any damned
newspaper may have to say about me--or about Miss de Gervais either."

"Why, Max,--Max--"

Diana stared at him in dismay, flushing a little. It was the first time
he had spoken harshly to her since their marriage.

In an instant he had caught her in his arms, passionately repentant.

"Dearest, forgive me! It was only--only that you are bound to read such
things, and it angered me for a moment. Miss de Gervais and I see too
much of each other to escape all comment."

Diana withdrew herself slowly from his arms.

"And--and must you see so much of her now? Now that we are married?" she
asked, rather wistfully.

"Why, of course. We have so many professional matters to discuss. You
must be prepared for that, Diana. When we begin rehearsing 'Mrs.
Fleming's Husband,' I shall be down at the theatre every day."

"Oh, yes, at the theatre. But--but you go to see Adrienne rather often
now, don't you? And the rehearsals haven't begun yet."

Max hesitated a moment. Then he said quietly:--

"Dear, you must learn not to be jealous of my work. There are
always--many things--that I have to discuss with Miss de Gervais."

And so, for the time being, the subject dropped. But the shadow had
flitted for a moment across the face of the sun. A little cloud, no
bigger than a man's hand, had shown itself upon the horizon.

In July the Erringtons left town to spend a brief holiday at Crailing
Rectory, and on their return, the preparations for the production of
"Mrs. Fleming