Meanwhile, she tortured herself with questioning as to why--if all that had passed meant nothing to him--he had chosen to stay.

Once she hid her burning face in her hands as the memory of those kisses rushed over her afresh, sending little, new, delicious thrills coursing through her veins.

Then once more the maddening doubt assailed her--were they but a bitter humiliation which she would remember for the rest of her life?
When she came downstairs again, Max Errington and Stair were conversing happily together, evidently on the best of terms with themselves and each other.

Errington was speaking as she entered the room, but he stopped abruptly, biting his words off short, while his keen eyes swept over the slim, black-gowned figure hesitating in the doorway.
"Mr.Stair has been pledging your word during your absence," he said.
"He has promised that you'll sing to us after dinner." "I?
Oh"-- nervously--"I don't think I want to sing this evening." "Why not?
Have the"-- he made an infinitesimal pause, regarding her the while with quizzical eyes--"events of the afternoon robbed you of your voice ?" Diana gave him back his look defiantly.

How dared he--oh, how dared he ?--she thought indignantly.
"My adventures weren't serious enough for that," she replied composedly.
The ghost of a smile flickered across his face.
"Then you will sing ?" he persisted.
"Yes, if you like." He nodded contentedly, and as they went in to dinner he whispered:-- "I found the adventure--rather serious." Dinner passed pleasantly enough.