He had come back!  After that first wild throb her heart seemed, to stand still, the room grew dark around her, and, she swayed a little where she stood.

“Nervous!” murmured one man to another, beneath his breath.

Olga Lermontof had finished the prelude, and, finding that Diana had failed to come in, composedly recommenced it.  Diana was dimly conscious of the repetition, and then the mist gradually cleared away from before her eyes, and this time, when the accompanist played the bar of her entry, the habit of long practice prevailed and she took up the voice part with accurate precision.

The hush deepened in the room.  Perhaps the very emotion under which Diana was labouring added to the charm of her wonderful voice—­gave it an indescribable appeal which held the critical audience, familiar with all the best that the musical world could offer, spell-bound.

When she ceased, and the last exquisite note had vibrated into silence, the enthusiasm of the applause that broke out would have done justice to a theatre pit audience rather than to a more or less blase society crowd.  And when the whisper went round that this was to be her only song—­that Baroni had laid his veto upon her singing twice—­the clapping and demands for an encore were redoubled.

Olga Lermontof’s eyes, roaming over the room, rested at last upon the face of Max Errington, and with the recollection of Diana’s hesitancy at the beginning of the song a brief smile flashed across her face.

“What shall I do?” Diana, who had bowed repeatedly without stemming the applause, turned to the accompanist, a little flushed with the thrill of this first public recognition of her gifts.

“Sing ‘The Haven of Memory,’” whispered Olga.

It was a sad little love lyric which Baroni himself had set to music specially for the voice of his favourite pupil, and as Diana’s low rich notes took up the plaintive melody, the audience settled itself down with a sigh of satisfaction to listen once more.

  Do you remember
    Our great love’s pure unfolding,
  The troth you gave,
    And prayed for God’s upholding,
      Long and long ago?

  Out of the past
    A dream—­and then the waking—­
  Comes back to me,
    Of love and love’s forsaking
      Ere the summer waned.

  Ah! let me dream
    That still a little kindness
  Dwelt in the smile
    That chid my foolish blindness,
      When you said good-bye.

  Let me remember,
    When I am very lonely,
  How once your love
    But crowned and blessed me only,
      Long and long ago! [1]

The haunting melody ceased, and an infinitesimal pause ensued before the clapping broke out.  It was rather subdued this time; more than one pair of eyes were looking at the singer through the grey mist of memory.

An old lady with very white hair and a reputation for a witty tongue that had been dipped in vinegar came up to Diana as she descended from the platform.