At dinner Diana strained her eyes in vain down the long table, and then watched the great doors for Jim’s appearance, but to no purpose. Had he obeyed her note? By the desolation of her heart she knew that she had not wished such swift obedience. *CHAPTER XII* The clock was striking ten, and Jim was waiting for Henry in the prayer-closet. He had arranged all the details of his departure. It was as though he carried a dead soul, so calm and void had been his feelings for the past hours. He had stayed away from the dinner-party on some pretext, and his man had already started for London with his luggage to be left at his club. When the servant returned the following morning, as he supposed to accompany his master back to town, he would find him gone. By the time the discovery of the deficit was made, Jim would be aboard the steamer that was to carry him across the Atlantic. Sounds from the drawing-room told him that dinner was over. He sat twirling his travelling hat; on a chair near by lay his coat. The chimes of the last notes of the church-bell were dying away as Henry hurriedly entered. Jim looked up and studied his cousin’s face, and he saw by his manner that some word of hope must have reached him from Lady Elizabeth. Save for a half-suppressed exclamation from Henry as he noticed Jim’s travelling clothes, neither of the men spoke. Henry flung himself into a chair; he could feel Jim’s eyes on his face. "Damn it, why don’t you speak?" he finally gasped, when he could no longer endure the situation. Jim quietly asked, "Have you made your peace with Diana?" "What would be the use now?" He knew that his mother had told Jim the truth. Why did Jim not refer to it? Perhaps there was, as his mother suggested, a way out of this; if so, why in Heaven’s name should the torture be continued. But Jim remained silent. "You think of nothing but Diana—Diana—Diana." With the last call of her name it became a wail. Henry had learned during the past hours what suffering could mean—he was beginning to know what life tempered with discipline might have meant for him. "When I stand dishonored before the world, it will be easy for you to take her from me. Is that what you are thinking?" He began excitedly to pace the room. "Not exactly," Jim answered, without moving from his bent position; "I was wondering whether you can be trusted with Diana’s future. I believe you love her after a fashion." Henry stopped in his walk in front of Jim. "And I know that you love her." Jim moved from the position that told how spent he was, and raised himself to his cousin’s height. "Yes," he said, "but not quite in the way you mean. I am about to show you how I love her." Something in the simple directness of his words made Henry lower his eyes. He threw himself into a chair and with averted head listened to what his cousin had to say.