ON the following morning the newspapers contained an account of the
concert at Manchester House. They contained also an account of a motor
accident which had occurred the same afternoon between Hyde Park Corner
and Knightsbridge.
On the wet pavement Lord Holme’s new car, which was taking Lady Holme
to Cadogan Square at a rapid pace, skidded and overturned, pinning Lady
Holme beneath it. While she was on the ground a hansom cab ran into the
car.
At their breakfasts her friends, her acquaintances, her enemies and the
general public read of her beautiful singing at the concert, and read
also the following paragraph, which closed the description of the
accident:
“We deeply regret to learn that Lady Holme was severely injured in
the face by the accident. Full particulars have not reached us, but
we understand that an immediate operation is necessary and will be
performed to-day by Mr. Bernard Crispin the famous surgeon. Her
ladyship is suffering great pain, and it is feared that she will be
permanently disfigured.”
The fierce change which Lady Holme had longed for was a reality. One
life, the life of the siren, had come to an end. But the eyes of the
woman must still see light. The heart of the woman must still beat on.
Death stretched out a hand in the darkness and found the hand of Birth.