"I found your note--the note you had left on my desk, so I thought I would like to say good-bye," he answered carelessly. "You could have waited till to-morrow morning," she returned coldly. "You--you"--she stammered a little, and a faint flush tinged her pallor--"you should not have come . . . here." A sudden light gleamed in his eyes, mocking and triumphant. "It is my wife's room. A husband"--slowly--"has certain rights." "Ah-h!" She caught her breath, and her hand flew her throat. "And since," he continued cruelly, never taking his eye from her face, "since those rights are to be rescinded to-morrow for ever--why, then, to-night--" "No! . . . No!" She shrank from him, her hands stretched out as though to ward him off. "You've said 'no' to me for the last six months," he said grimly. "But--that's ended now." Her eyes searched his face wildly, reading only a set determination in it. Slowly, desperately, she backed away from him; then, suddenly, she made a little rush, and, reaching the door, pulled at the handle. But it remained fast shut. "_It's locked_!" she cried, frantically tugging at it. She flashed round upon him. "The key! Where's the key?" The words came sobbingly. He put his fingers in his pocket. "Here," he answered coolly. Despairingly she retreated from the door. There was an expression in his eyes that terrified her--a furnace heat of passion barely held in check. The Englishman within him was in abeyance; the hot, foreign blood was leaping in his veins. "Max!" she faltered appealingly. He crossed swiftly to her side, gripping her soft, bare arms in a hold so fierce that his fingers scored them with red weals. "By God, Diana! What do you think I'm made of?" he burst out violently. "For months you've shut yourself away from me and I've borne it, waiting--waiting always for you to come back to me. Do you think it's been easy?" His limbs were shaking, and his eyes burned into hers. "And now--now you tell me that you've done with me. . . You take everything from me! My love is to count for nothing!" "You never loved me!" she protested, with low, breathless vehemence. "It--it could never have been love." For a moment he was silent, staring at her. Then he laughed. "Very well. Call it desire, passion--what you will!" he exclaimed brutally. "But--you married me, you know!" She cowered away from him, looking to right and left like a trapped animal seeking to escape, but he held her ruthlessly, forcing her to face him. All at once, her nerve gave way, and she began to cry--helpless, despairing weeping that rocked the slight form in his grasp. As she stood thus, the soft silk of her wrapper falling in straight folds about her; her loosened hair shadowing her white face, she looked pathetically small and young, and Errington suddenly relinquished his hold of her and stepped back, his hands slowly clenching in the effort not to take her in his arms.