Although Olga Lermontof had frequently accompanied Diana during her lessons with Baroni, the acquaintance between the two had made but small progress.  There had been but little opportunity for conversation on those occasions, and Diana, instinctively resenting the accompanist’s cool and rather off-hand manner, had never sought to become better acquainted with her.  It was generally supposed that she was a Russian, and she was undoubtedly a highly gifted musician, but there was something oddly disagreeable and repellent about her personality.  Whenever Diana had thought about her at all, she had mentally likened her to Ishmael, whose hand was against every man and every man’s hand against his.  And now she found herself involved with this strange woman in the rather close intimacy of daily life consequent upon becoming fellow-boarders in the same house.

Seen amidst so many strange faces, the familiarity of Olga Lermontof’s clever but rather forbidding visage bred a certain new sense of comradeship, and Diana made several tentative efforts to draw her into conversation.  The results were meagre, however, the Russian confining herself to monosyllabic answers until some one—­one of the musical students—­chanced to mention that she had recently been to the Premier Theatre to see Adrienne de Gervais in a new play, “The Grey Gown,” which had just been produced there.

It was then that Miss Lermontof apparently awoke to the fact that the English language contains further possibilities than a bare “yes” or “no.”

“I consider Adrienne de Gervais a most overrated actress,” she remarked succinctly.

A chorus of disagreement greeted this announcement.

“Why, only think how quickly she’s got on,” argued Miss Jones.  “No one three years ago—­and to-day Max Errington writes all his plays round her.”

“Precisely.  And it’s easy enough to ‘create a part’ successfully if that part has been previously written specially to suit you,” retorted Miss Lermontof unmoved.

The discussion of Adrienne de Gervais’ merits, or demerits, threatened to develop into a violent disagreement, and Diana was struck by a certain personal acrimony that seemed to flavour Miss Lermontof’s criticism of the popular actress.  Finally, with the idea of averting a quarrel between the disputants, she mentioned that the actress, accompanied by her chaperon, had been staying in the neighbourhood of her own home.

“Mr. Errington was with them also,” she added.

“He usually is,” commented Miss Lermontof disagreeably.

“He’s a remarkably fine pianist,” said Diana.  “Do you know him personally at all?”

“I’ve met him,” replied Olga.  Her green eyes narrowed suddenly, and she regarded Diana with a rather curious expression on her face.

“Is he a professional pianist?” pursued Diana.  She was conscious of an intense curiosity concerning Errington, quite apart from the personal episodes which had linked them together.  The man of mystery invariably exerts a peculiar fascination over the feminine mind.  Hence the unmerited popularity not infrequently enjoyed by the dark, saturnine, brooding individual whose conversation savours of the tensely monosyllabic.