"For the sake of that sainted martyr--martyr in life as well as in death--I will hold my peace." A half-sad, half-humorous smile flashed across Errington's face.
"We're all of us martyrs--more or less," he observed drily.
"And you wish to add Mees Quentin to the list ?" retorted Baroni.
"Well, I warn you, I shall fight against it.

I will do everything in my power to stop this marriage." Max shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm sure you will," he said, smiling faintly.

"But--forgive me, _Maestro_--I don't think you will succeed." As soon as Baroni had taken his departure, Max called a taxi, and hurried off to see Adrienne de Gervais.

He had arranged to talk over with her a certain scene in the play he was now writing for her, and which was to be produced early in the New Year.
Adrienne welcomed him good-humouredly.
"A little late," she observed, glancing at the clock.

"But I suppose one must not expect punctuality when a man's in love." "I know I'm late, but I can assure you"-- with a grim smile--"love had little enough to do with it." Adrienne looked up sharply, struck by the bitter note in his voice.
"Then what had ?" she asked.