ilities of the situation, enhancing all the disagreeable details,
and oblivious of any mitigating circumstances which may, quite
probably, accompany it. There is sound sense and infinite comfort, if
you look for it, in the old saying which bids us not to cross our
bridges till we come to them.

The fear of the unknown, the unexperienced, is a more haunting,
insidious fear than any other, and sometimes one positively longs to
hasten the advent of an unwelcome ordeal, in order that the worst may
be known and the menace of the future be transformed into a memory of
the past.

So it was with Diana. She had been for so long beset by her fear of
the first meeting that she experienced a sensation almost of relief
when her eyes fell at last upon the tall figure of her husband.

He was deep in conversation with the French Ambassador at the moment,
but as Diana approached it was as though some sensitive, invisible live
wire had vibrated, apprising him of her nearness, and he looked up
suddenly, his blue eyes gazing straight into hers.

To Diana, the brief encounter proved amazingly simple and easy in
contrast with the shrinking apprehensions she had formed. A slight bow
from her, its grave return from him, and the dreaded moment was past.

It was only afterwards that she realised, with a sense of sick dismay,
how terribly he had altered. She caught at the accompanist's arm with
nervous force.

"Olga!" she whispered. "Did you see?"

The Russian's expression answered her. Her face wore a curious stunned
look, and her mouth twitched as she tried to control the sudden
trembling of her lips.

"Come outside--on to this balcony." Olga spoke with a fierce
imperativeness as she saw Diana sway uncertainly and her face whiten.

Once outside in the cool shelter of the balcony, dimly lit by swaying
Chinese lanterns, Diana sank into a chair, shaken and unnerved. For an
instant her eyes strayed back to where, through the open French window,
she could see Max still conversing with the Ambassador, but she averted
them swiftly.

The change in him hurt her like the sudden stab of a knife. His face
was worn and lined; there was something ascetic-looking in the hollowed
line from cheek-bone to chin and in the stern, austere closing of the
lips, while the eyes--the mocking blue eyes with the laughter always
lurking at the back of them--held an expression of deep, unalterable
sadness.

"Olga!" The word broke from Diana's white l