moment, then bent her head in silence, and each of them was conscious
that in some mysterious way, without the interchange of further words, an
armistice had been declared between them.

With Errington at the piano the music took on a different aspect. He was
an incomparable accompanist, and Diana, feeling herself supported, and
upborne, sang with a beauty of interpretation, an intensity of feeling,
that had been impossible before. And through it all she was acutely
conscious of Max Errington's proximity--knew instinctively that the
passion of the song was shaking him equally with herself. It was as
though some intangible live wire were stretched between them so that each
could sense the emotion of the other--as though the garment with which we
so persistently conceal our souls from one another's eyes were suddenly
stripped away.

There was a tense look in Max's face as the last note trembled into
silence, and Diana, meeting his glance, flushed rosily.

"I can't sing any more," she said, her voice uneven.

"No."

He added nothing to the laconic negative, but his eyes held hers
remorselessly.

Then Pobs' cheerful tones fell on their ears and the taut moment passed.

"Di, you amazing child!" he exclaimed delightfully. "Where did you find
a voice like that? I realise now that we've been entertaining genius
unawares all this time. Joan, my dear, henceforth two commonplace bodies