"I can't see why Adrienne wants to consult you so often," Diana protested one day. "She is perpetually ringing you up to go round to Somervell Street--or if it's not that, then she is writing to you." Max laughed her protest aside. "Well, there's a lot to consult about, you see," he said vaguely. "So it seems. I shall be glad when it is all finished and I have you to myself again. When will the play be on?" "About the middle of October," he replied, fidgeting restlessly with the papers that strewed his desk. They were talking in his own particular den, and Diana's eyes ruefully followed the restless gesture. "I suppose," she said slowly, "you want me to go?" "Well"--apologetically--"I have a lot to attend to this morning. Will you send Jerry to me--do you mind, dearest?" "It wouldn't make much difference if I did," she responded grimly, as she went towards the door. Max looked after her thoughtfully in silence. When she had gone, he leaned his head rather wearily upon his hand. "It's better so," he muttered. "Better she should think it's only the play that binds me to Adrienne." CHAPTER XVIII THE APPROACHING SHADOW Diana gathered up her songs and slowly dropped them into her music-case, while Baroni stared at her with a puzzled, brooding look in his eyes. At last he spoke:-- "You are throwing away the great gift God has given you. First, you will take no more engagements, and now--what is it? Where is your voice?" Diana, conscious of having done herself less than justice at the lesson which was just concluded, shook her head. "I don't know," she said simply. "I don't seem able to sing now, somehow." Baroni shrugged his shoulders. "You are fretting," he declared. "And so the voice suffers." "Fretting? I don't know that I've anything to fret about"--vaguely. "Only I shall be glad when 'Mrs. Fleming's Husband' is actually produced. Just now"--with a rather wistful smile--"I don't seem to have a husband to call my own. Miss de Gervais claims so much of his time." Baroni's brow grew stormy. "Mees de Gervais? Of course! It is inevitable!" he muttered. "I knew it must be like that." Diana regarded him curiously. "But why? Do--do all dramatists have to consult so much with the leading actress in the play?" The old _maestro_ made a sweeping gesture with his arm, as though disavowing any knowledge of the matter. "Do not ask me!" he said bitterly. "Ask Max Errington--ask your husband these questions." At the condemnation in his voice her loyalty asserted itself indignantly. "You are right," she said quickly. "I ought not to have asked you. Good-bye, signor." But Diana's loyalty was hard put to it to fight the newly awakened jealousy that was stirring in her heart, and it seemed as though just now everything and everybody combined to add fuel to the fire, for, only a few days later, when Miss Lermontof came to Lilac Lodge to practise with Diana, she, too, added her quota of disturbing comment.