The Splendid Folly Part 38

"And whom have I to thank for that? You--you, from whom, more than from any other, I might have expected loyalty."

Olga shook her head.

"No, not me. But the fact that no wife worth the name will stand quietly by and see her husband at the beck and call of another woman."

"More especially when there is some one who drops poison in her ear day by day," he retorted.

"Yes," she acknowledged frankly. "If I can bring matters to a head, force you to a choice between Adrienne and Diana, I shall do it. And then, before G.o.d, Max! I believe you'll free yourself from that woman."

"No," he answered quietly, "I shall not."

"You'll sacrifice Diana?"--incredulously.

A smile of confidence lightened his face.

"I don't think it will come to that. I'm staking--everything--on Diana's trust in me."

"Then you'll lose--lose, I tell you."

"No," he said steadily. "I shall win."

Olga smote her hands together.

"Was there ever such a fool! I tell you, no woman's trust can hold out for ever. And since you can't explain to her--"

"It won't be for ever," he broke in quickly. "Everything goes well.

Before long all the concealment will be at an end. And I shall be free."

Olga turned away.

"I can't wish you success," she said bitterly. "The day that brings you success will be the blackest hour of my life."

Errington's face softened a little.

"Olga, you are unreasonable--"

"Unreasonable, am I? Because I grudge paying for the sins of others? . . . If that is unreasonable--yes, then, I _am_ unreasonable!

Now, go. Go, and remember, Max, we are on opposite sides of the camp."

Errington paused at the door.

"So long as you keep your honour--_our_ honour--clean," he said, "do what you like! I have utter, absolute trust in Diana."

CHAPTER XIX

THE "FIRST NIGHT" PERFORMANCE

The curtain fell amidst a roar of applause, and the lights flashed up over the auditorium once more. It was the first night performance of "Mrs. Fleming's Husband," and the house was packed with the usual crowd of first-nighters, critics, and members of "the" profession who were anxious to see Miss de Gervais in the new part Max Errington had created for her.

Diana and Joan Stair were in a box, escorted only by Jerry, since Max had firmly refused to come down to the theatre for the first performance.

"I can't stand first nights," he had said. "At least, not of my own plays." And not even Diana's persuasions had availed to move him from this decision.

Joan was ecstatic in her praise.

"Isn't Adrienne simply wonderful?" she exclaimed, as the music of the _entr'acte_ stole out from the hidden orchestra.

"'M, yes." Diana's reply lacked enthusiasm.

Joan, if she could not boast great powers of intuition, was dowered with a keen observation, and she had not spent a week at Lilac Lodge without putting two and two together and making four of them. She had noticed a great change in Diana. The girl was moody and unusually silent; her gay good spirits had entirely vanished, and more than once Joan had caught her regarding her husband with a curious mixture of resentment and contempt in her eyes. Joan was frankly worried over the state of affairs.

"Why this _nil admirari_ att.i.tude?" she asked. "Have you and Adrienne quarrelled?"

"Quarrelled?" Diana raised her brows ever so slightly. "What should we quarrel about? As a matter of fact, I really don't see very much of her nowadays."

"So I imagined," replied Joan calmly. "When I stayed with you last May, either she came to the Lodge, or you went to Somervell Street, every day of the week. This time, you've not seen each other since I came."

"No? I don't think"--lightly--"that Adrienne cares much for members of her own s.e.x. She prefers--their husbands."

Joan stared in amazement. The little acid speech was so unlike Diana that she felt convinced it sprang from some new and strong antagonism towards the actress. What could be the cause of it? Diana and Adrienne had been warm friends only a few months ago!

Joan's eyes travelled from Diana's small, set face to Jerry's pleasant boyish one. The latter had opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it, and closed it again, reddening uncomfortably, and his dismayed expression was so obvious as to be almost comic.

The rise of the curtain for the third and last act put a summary end to any further conversation and Joan bent her attention on the stage once more, though all the time that her eyes and ears were absorbing the s.h.i.+fting scenes and brilliant dialogue of the play a little, persistent inner voice at the back of her brain kept repeating Diana's nonchalant "_I really don't see very much of her nowadays_," and querying irrepressibly, "_Why not_?"

Meanwhile, Diana, unconscious of the uneasy curiosity she had awakened in the mind of Joan, was watching the progress of the play intently.

How designedly it was written around Adrienne de Gervais--calculated to give every possible opportunity to a fine emotional actress! Her lips closed a little more tightly together as the thought took hold of her.

The author must have studied Adrienne, watched her every mood, learned every twist of her temperament, to have portrayed a character so absolutely suited to her as that of Mrs. Fleming. And how could a man know a woman's soul so well unless--unless it were the soul of the woman he loved? That was it; that was the explanation of all those things which had puzzled, and bewildered her for so long. And the author was her husband!

Diana, staring down from her box at that exquisite, breathing incarnation of grace on the stage below, felt that she hated Adrienne.

She had never hated any one before, and the intensity of her feeling frightened her. Since a few months ago, strange, deep emotions had stirred within her--a pa.s.sion of love and a pa.s.sion of hatred such as in the days of her simple girlhood she would not have believed to be possible to any ordinary well-brought-up young Englishwoman. That Max was capable of a fierce heat of pa.s.sion, she knew. But then, he was not all English; wilder blood ran in his veins. She could imagine his killing a man if driven by the lash of pa.s.sionate jealousy. But she had never pictured herself obsessed by hate of a like quality.

And yet, now, as her eyes followed Adrienne's slender figure, with its curious little air of hauteur that always set her so apart from other women, moving hither and thither on the stage, her hands clenched themselves fiercely, and her grey eyes dilated with the intensity of her hatred. Almost--almost she could understand how men and women killed each other in the grip of a jealous love. . . .

The play was ended. Adrienne had bowed repeatedly in response to the wild enthusiasm of the audience, and of a sudden a new cry mingled with the shouts and clapping.

"Author! Author!"

Adrienne came forward again and bowed, smilingly shaking her head, gesturing a negative with her hands. But still the cry went on, "Author! Author!"--the steady, persistent drone of an audience which does not mean to be denied.

Diana experienced a brief thrill of triumph. She felt convinced that Adrienne would have liked to have Max standing beside her at this moment. It would have set the seal on an evening of glorious success, completed it, as it were. And he had refused to come, declined--so Diana put it to herself--to share the evening's triumph with the actress who had so well interpreted his work. At least this would be a pin-p.r.i.c.k in the enemy's side!

And then--then--a hand pulled aside the heavy folds of the stage curtain, and the next moment Max and Adrienne were standing there together, bowing and smiling, while the audience roared and cheered its enthusiasm.

Diana could hardly believe her eyes. Max had told her so emphatically that he would not come. And now, he was here! He had lied to her!

The affair had been pre-arranged between him and Adrienne all the time?