could not now be told to Sarle, until, at any rate, it was known
to that unhappy old man in England whose head must be bowed in sorrow
to the grave. After that, who could tell?

Somehow she felt that all hope of personal happiness with Vereker Sarle
was over. It was unfit that so clean-souled and upright a man should
be involved in the tangle of lies and deceit and tragedy that she and
Diana had between them encompassed. He would shrink from her when he
knew all, of that she felt certain, and it made her shrink in turn to
think of it. So she sent only a little formal line in answer to his
note, making no reference to the likelihood of seeing him on deck or
anywhere else. It looked cold and cruel enough to her, that note, like
a little knife she was sending him; but it was a two-edged knife, with
which she also wounded herself.

The stewardess brought her tea and toast, and she stayed in her room
all day. Only in the cool of the evening, when everyone else was
dining, she crept out for a few moments, and leaned upon the ship's
rail, drinking in the air and staring at the moody line of land ahead
that meant fresh experiences and trouble on the morrow! She was afraid
to look at the sea!

No farewell concert took place that night. People whispered together
in little groups for a while after dinner, but all the merriment of the
last night at sea was lost in the sense of tragedy that hung about the
ship. Almost everyone was oppressed by a feeling of guilty
responsibility for what had happened. The inherent decency of human
nature asserted itself, and each one thought:

"Why did I not give the poor girl a helping hand instead of driving her
to desperation?" It was remembered that "Lady Diana" had stood by her,
and everyone yearned to absolve their souls by explanation to the
person who (to her great regret) bore that rank and title. But she had
put a barricade of stewardesses between her and them, and was invisible
to callers. Some few of the younger and more resilient passengers, in
an effort to shake off what seemed to them useless gloom, went and
asked the Captain to allow the band to play on deck. He consented,
stipulating only that there should be no dancing. Of course, no one
wanted to dance, but as ships' bands specialize in dance music, the
musicians struck at once into a tango, and it happened to be the one
Diana had made her own by singing her little French rhyme to it:

"Tout le monde
Au sal