“Doesn’t want to take the cream off the milk, I suppose,” said Jerry, with a grin.  “But, as a matter of fact, he has given permission this time.  Miss de Gervais went to see him about it herself, and he’s consented.  I’ve got a letter for you from the old chap”—­producing it as he spoke.

“Adrienne is a marvel,” said Diana, as she slit the flap of the envelope.  “I’m sure Baroni would have refused any one else, but she seems to be able to twist him round her little finger.”

“Dear Mis Quentin”—­Baroni had written in his funny, cramped handwriting—­“You may sing for Miss de Gervais.  I have seen the list of guests and it can do no harm—­possibly a little good.  Yours very sincerely, CARLO BARONI.”

“Miss de Gervais must have a ‘way’ with her,” said Jerry meditatively.  “I observe that even my boss always does her bidding like a lamb.”

Diana poured herself out a second cup of tea before she asked negligently:—­

“When’s your ‘boss’ returning?  It seems to me he’s allowing you to live the life of the idle rich.  Will he be back for Adrienne’s reception?”

“No.  About a week afterwards, I expect.”

“Where’s he been?”

“Oh, all over the shop—­I’ve had letters from him from half the capitals in Europe.  But he’s been in Russia longest of all, I think.”

“Russia?”—­musingly.  “I suppose he isn’t a Russian by any chance?”

“I’ve never asked him,” returned Jerry shortly.

“He is certainly not pure English.  Look at his high cheek-bones.  And his temperament isn’t English, either,” she added, with a secret smile.

Jerry remained silent.

“Don’t you think it’s rather funny that we none of us know anything about him?—­I mean beyond the mere fact that his name is Errington and that he’s a well-known playwright.”

“Why do you want to know more?” growled Jerry.

“Well, I think there is something behind, something odd about him.  Olga Lermontof is always hinting that there is.”

“Look here, Diana,” said Jerry, getting rather red.  “Don’t let’s talk about Errington.  You know we always get shirty with each other when we do.  I’m not going to pry into his private concerns—­and as for Miss Lermontof, she’s the type of woman who simply revels in making mischief.”

“But it is funny Mr. Errington should be so—­so reserved about himself,” persisted Diana.  “Hasn’t he ever told you anything?”

“No, he has not,” replied Jerry curtly.  “Nor should I ever ask him to.  I’m quite content to take him as I find him.”

“All the same, I believe Miss Lermontof knows something about him—­something not quite to his credit.”

“I swear she doesn’t,” burst out Jerry violently.  “Just because he doesn’t choose to blab out all his private affairs to the world at large, that black-browed female Tartar must needs imagine he has something to conceal.  It’s damnable!  I’d stake my life Errington’s as straight as a die—­and always has been.”