She regarded him questioningly.

“It looks as though you suspected the secret of being a disgraceful one—­something of which Max is ashamed to tell you.  Do you”—­sharply—­“think that?”

“Of course I don’t!” she burst out indignantly.

“Then why trouble?  Possibly the matter concerns some one else besides himself, and he may not be at liberty to tell you anything—­he might have a dozen different reasons for keeping his own counsel.  And the woman who loves him and is ready to be his wife is the first to doubt and, distrust him!  Diana, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.  If my wife”—­his voice shook a little—–­“had ever doubted me—­no matter how black things might have looked against me—­I think it would have broken my heart.”

Diana’s head drooped lower and lower as he spoke, and presently her hand stole out, seeking his.  In a moment it was taken and held in a close and kindly clasp.

“I’ll—­I’ll marry him, Pobs,” she whispered.

So it came about that when, two days later, Max took his way to 24 Brutton Square, the gods had better gifts in store for him than he had dared to hope.

He was pacing restlessly up and down her little sitting-room when she entered it, and she could see that his face bore traces of the last few days’ anxiety.  There were new lines about his mouth, and his eyes were so darkly shadowed as to seem almost sunken in their sockets.

“You have come back!” he said, stepping eagerly towards her.  “Diana”—­there was a note of strain in his voice—­“which is it?  Yes—­or no?”

She held out her hands.

“It’s—­it’s ‘yes,’ Max.”

A stifled exclamation broke from him, almost like a sob.  He folded her in his arms and laid his lips to hers.

“My beloved! . . .  Oh, Diana, if you could guess the agony—­the torture of the last ten days!” And he leaned his cheek against her hair, and stood silently for a little space.

Presently fear overcame him again—­quick fear lest she should ever regret having given herself to him.

“Heart’s dearest, have you realised that it will be very hard sometimes?  You will ask me to explain things—­and I shan’t be able to.  Is your trust big enough—­great enough for this?”

Diana raised her head from his shoulder.

“I love you,” she answered steadily.

“Do you forget the shadow?  It is there still, dogging my steps.  Not even your love can alter that.”

For a moment Diana rose to the heights of her womanhood.

“If there must be a shadow,” she said, “we will walk in it together.”

“But—­don’t you see?—­I shall know what it is.  To you it will always be something unknown, hidden, mysterious.  Child!  Child!  I wonder if I am right to let you join your life to mine!”

But Diana only repeated:—­

“I love you.”

And at last he flung all thoughts of warning and doubt aside, and secure in that reiterated “I love you!” yielded to the unutterable joy of the moment.