Under the calm, serious face he could see the tremulous expression that showed her quivering, hurt feelings. The tender eyes held him fast. Still he hesitated. As in a moment of prevision he was urged to say no; it seemed as though he were starting on a way that led him into darkness. The absurd compelling force fastened around him in a tight grip; he tried to stammer a few words; he was irritated by his apparent stupidity, then he heard Diana say: "Let me decide for you." As she spoke, a shaft of golden light penetrated the room. Why should he not go? He quickly threw off the intangible feeling of fear. He told her he was only too happy to be of service. It was a warm, mellow, summer day, and the soft, alluring air quickly lulled Jim into a tranquil mood. As they stood before the portrait, Jim knew that it was one of the painter’s true inspirations. The simple brown gown in which Diana had been painted brought out the gold in the bands of her straight hair. It faded away into a dull background, leaving only her luminous face in high relief. The painted oval contour and the curved lips were there in all their beauty; but the shadowy eyes unconsciously showed the troubled soul. It was a portrait of Diana older in years and experience. The painter seemed to have passed by her obvious youth and divined her in her maturity. Curiously enough, the portrait stirred Jim more than his meeting with Diana had done. When they descended to the carriage, Diana said, "Come and drive—not in the park, but let us go along the Embankment, across the bridge towards Richmond. I long for a breath of the country." This time he made no effort to resist her appeal. As they drove, Jim learned from Diana the news about Sir Charles. His ill health had greatly increased, and a London specialist’s opinion had been far from sanguine. He gathered that Diana felt it was the beginning of the end; as she spoke, Jim could read the anguish of her thoughts. Once she turned to him and said: "I have so few to love." Soon they found themselves talking merrily over gay reminiscences of their childhood days. The hours slipped by, and it was only the deepening of the shadows that reminded Diana that she was entertaining the Prime-Minister that night at a large dinner-party. The return home was quickly made. "Won’t you dine with us, Jim?" Diana asked, as they reached Pont Street. "We can easily lay an extra cover." But Jim, feeling that it would be better not to see Henry that night, pleaded an engagement at his club. He left Diana with a promise to see her soon. That night he forgot her unusual beauty; he remembered only the fragrance of her personality. During the following week he obtained a leave of absence, and with Singleton planned to go abroad. Why he did this he could not quite explain. He saw Diana and Henry only once before leaving for his holiday. That was in June. *CHAPTER VII*