Lermontof's curious warning had frightened her a little. She
apparently possessed some intimate knowledge of the affairs both of Max
Errington and Adrienne de Gervais, and what she knew did not appear to
be very favourable to either of them.

Diana had intuitively felt from the very beginning of her acquaintance
with Errington that there was something secret, something hidden, about
him, and in a way this had added to her interest in him. It had seized
hold of her imagination, kept him vividly before her mind as nothing
else could have done, and now Olga Lermontof's strange hints and
innuendos gave a fresh fillip to her desire to know in what way Max
Errington differed from his fellows.

"It would be dishonourable of him to make you care," Miss Lermontof had
said.

The words seemed to ring in Diana's ears, and side by side with them,
as though to add a substance of reality, came the memory of Errington's
own bitter exclamation: "I forgot that I'm a man barred out from all
that makes life worth living!"

She felt as though she had drawn near some invisible web, of which
every now and then a single filament brushed against her--almost
impalpable, yet touching her with the fleetest and lightest of contacts.

During the weeks that followed, Diana became more or less an intimate
at Adrienne's house in Somervell Street. The actress seemed to have
taken a great fancy to her, and although she was several years Diana's
senior, the difference in age formed no appreciable stumbling-block to
the growth of the friendship between them.

On her part, Diana regarded Adrienne with the enthusiastic devotion
which an older woman--more especially if she happens to be very
beautiful and occupying a somewhat unique position--frequently inspires
in one younger than herself, and Olga Lermontof's grave warning might
just as well have been uttered to the empty air. Diana's warm-hearted,
spontaneous nature swept it aside with an almost passionate loyalty and
belief in her new-found friend.

Once Miss Lermontof had referred to it rather disagreeably.

"So you've decided to make a friend of Miss de Gervais after all?" she
said.

"Yes. And I think you've misjudged her utterly," Diana warmly assured
her. "Of course," she added, sensitively afraid that the other might
misconstrue her meaning, "I know you believed what you were saying, and
that you only said it out of kindness to me. But you were
mistaken--really you were."

"Hum