nto her heart, and woven its toils about her almost
before she was aware of it.

And behind it all there loomed a new terror. Olga Lermontof's advice:
"_Ask him who he is_," beat at the back of her brain, fraught with
fresh mystery, the forerunner of a whole host of new suspicions.

Secrecy and concealment of any kind were utterly alien to Diana's
nature. Impulsive, warm-hearted, quick-tempered, she was the last
woman in the world to have been thrust by an unkind fate into an
atmosphere of intrigue and mystery. She was like a pretty, fluttering,
summer moth, caught in the gossamer web of a spider--terrified,
struggling, battling against something she did not understand, and
utterly without the patience and strong determination requisite to free
herself.

For hours after Olga's departure she fought down the temptation to
follow her advice and question her husband. She could not bring
herself to hurt him--as it must do if he guessed that she distrusted
him. But neither could she conquer the suspicions that had leaped to
life within her. At last, for the time being, love obtained the
mastery--won the first round of the struggle.

"I will trust him," she told herself. "And--and whether I trust him or
not," she ended up defiantly, "at least he shall never know, never see
it, if--if I can't."

So that it was a very sweet and repentant, if rather wan, Diana that
greeted her husband when he returned from the afternoon rehearsal at
the theatre.

Max's keen eyes swept the white, shadowed face.

"Has Miss Lermontof been here to-day?" he asked abruptly.

"Yes." A burning flush chased away her pallor as she answered his
question.

"I see."

"You see?"--nervously. "What do you see?"

A very gentle expression came into Max's eyes.

"I see," he said kindly, "that I have a tired wife. You mustn't let
Baroni and Miss Lermontof work you too hard between them."

"Oh, they don't, Max."

"All right, then. Only"--cupping her chin in his hand and turning her
face up to his--"I notice I often have a somewhat worried-looking wife
after one of Miss Lermontof's visits. I don't think she is too good a
friend for you, Diana. Couldn't you get some one else to accompany
you?"

Diana hesitated. She would have been quite glad to dispense with
Olga's services had it been possible. The Russian was for ever hinting
at something in connection either with Max or Miss de Gervais; to-day
she had but gone a step further than