Therefore, having assured
myself that I was not among spies bent on having my life or the secret I
carried, I forgot about my fellow-travellers, and fell into gloomy
speculations as to my chances with Diana. I had been loving her,
thinking of little else but her and my hopes of her, for many months
now; but never had I realised what a miserable, empty world it would be
for me without Di for my own, as I did now, when I had perhaps lost her.
Not that I would allow myself to think that I could not get her back. I
would not think it. I would force her to believe in me, to trust me,
even to repent her suspicions, though appearances were all against me,
and Heaven knew how much or when I might be permitted to explain. I
would not be a man if I took her at her word, and let her slip from me,
no matter how many times that word were repeated; so I told myself over
and over. Yet a voice inside me seemed to say that nothing could be as
it had been; that I'd sacrificed my happiness to please a stranger, and
to save a woman whom I had never really loved.
Di was so beautiful, so sweet, so used to being admired by men; there
were so many who loved her, so many with a thousand times more to offer
than I had or would ever have: how could I hope that she would go on
caring for me, after what had happened to-day? I wondered.
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