very inmost thoughts, it seemed. And then she leaned back
in her chair and laughed, rather hysterically, I thought.
"Of course," she cried, "How delightfully you have planned
it. I shall always remember. There must be a man ; and a
heart full of love for me ; and, oh yes—l must not forget--
money, too. There must be much money. What a pretty
fortune. Thank you, kind sir."
And then her laughter faded from her lips. She drew her
hand across her forehead and held it out to me.
" Good night, King," she said, and again I saw that light in
her eyes. "My head aches with that nasty old French lesson.
Good night."
I held her hand until she drew it away. Then I turned on
my heel and went out into the night. It was the first time
that she had ever dismissed me in that summary fashion. I
was piqued—yes, and hurt.
For three days I did not go near Diana's home. They were
days of misery for me. But my pride remained unbending.
And then, on the evening of the third day, I could stand it no
longer. Life without Diana was unendurable. I felt that I
must see her, at any cost to my pride. And once I had come
to that conclusion I lost no time in putting the idea into exe
cution.
Diana was in, but she was expecting no one. I said that I
would wait for her in the study. I entered and threw myself
into an easy chair. A little table opposite me attracted my
attention. It looked familiar. I crossed over to it. Then I
lifted the cloth cover hiding some object on the top of the
table. The phonograph was revealed.
A record was still in place upon the cylinder. Thought
lessly, unconsciously almost, I shifted the transmitter to the
starting point, as I had seen Diana do, and pushed the little
nickeled lever.
First, there was that crackling sound which reminds one of
treading on peanut shucks. This quickly merged into a con
tinuous flow of strange words. I listened intently, not with
out amusement, trying to detect one familiar phrase. But it