“Life,” said Mr. Dempsi, stretching the toes of his small feet to the fire with a luxurious intake of breath, “is a beautiful thing. From the utter depths of loveless despair to the sublime accomplishment of heart’s desire--what a transition, my own!” “Mr. Dempsi--” began Diana. “Wopsy,” he murmured reproachfully. “Well--Wopsy. I have allowed you to stay because I wanted a quiet talk with you. A quiet talk,” she stressed the qualification as he reached out for a hand that was not there. “Silence is so wonderful.” He turned his languishing eyes upon her. “Silence and thought and The Woman.” But Diana had her piece to say, carefully prepared and rehearsed in the solitude of her room. “Five years ago you were good enough to ask me to marry you. I refused. People say that young girls are brainless--the fact that I declined the honour you offered is proof to the contrary. What I felt then, I feel now. My heart is in the grave!” “_My_ grave.” His smile was melancholy but complacent. “Don’t be silly. You are alive, I’m sorry--I mean I should be sorry if you weren’t. I had a lover--my heart went out to him, Wopsy,”--her voice trembled, she thought there were tears in his sympathetic eyes, “but he passed.” “Ran away from you?” Mr. Dempsi sat up. “When I say ‘passed’”--there was more than a trace of acid in Diana’s voice--“I mean ... to the Great Beyond.” “Pegged out?” Dempsi shrugged. “These things happen. Once I loved a girl--oh, Diana, such a girl amongst girls! Tall, divinely fair, gracious in every look and movement. She also passed--to the Great Beyond.” “She died?” whispered Diana. “She went on to the stage--in America,” said Dempsi. “She was dead to me. I cut her out of my heart. I could have killed myself, but I said: ‘Wopsy, have you forgotten your little Diana--your first, your only love?’ With a courage that I have often admired, I forgot her. She is now the greatest screen vamp in Hollywood. I see her frequently without a tremor. Such things happen.” Diana was unmoved, though a little discouraged. “My love will never be forgotten,” she gulped. “Wopsy, you see how impossible it is--did you get the money?” “The money--you sent it to me? But, Diana, how foolish!” “I sent it by cheque,” she said. He sank back again in his chair. “You are a foolish little one. Money!” He laughed cruelly. “How you Anglo-Saxons worship money! To men of my temperament ...!” He snapped his fingers. “As to your unfaithfulness to the great ideal I provided, your heartless disregard for my memory, I forgive you. You were only a child--you could not be expected to cherish the memory of the man who died for you. That is past. We belong to the Day--to-morrow, Monday, Tuesday we shall be married.” “What are we doing on Wednesday?” she asked. “Forgive me for looking so far ahead.” For a second he was disconcerted, uneasy: that he betrayed in his laughter. “My dear little Diana, how droll you are----”