It was a moment for speedy action.  The audience were breaking into impatient clapping, and from the back of the hall came an undertone of stamping, and the sound of umbrellas banging on the floor.  Errington turned swiftly to Diana.

“Will you trust me with the accompaniments?” he said, his blue eyes fixed on hers.

“You?” she faltered.

“Yes.  I swear I won’t fail you.”  His voice dropped to a lower note, but his dominating eyes still held her.  “See, you offered me your friendship.  Trust me now.  Let me ‘stand by,’ as a friend should.”

There was an instant’s pause, then suddenly Diana bent her head in acquiescence.

“Thank heaven! thank heaven!” exclaimed Baroni, wringing Max’s hand.  “You haf saved the situation, Mr. Errington.”

A minute later Diana found herself mounting the platform steps, her hand in Max’s.  His close, firm clasp steadied and reassured her.  Again she was aware of that curious sense of well-being, as of leaning on some sure, unfailing strength, which the touch of his hand had before inspired.

As he led her on to the platform she met his eyes, full of a kind good-comradeship and confidence.

“All right?” he whispered cheerfully.

A little comforting warmth crept about her heart.  She was not alone, facing all those hundreds of curious, critical eyes in the hall below; there was a friend “standing by.”

She nodded to him reassuringly, suddenly conscious of complete self-mastery.  She no longer feared those ranks of upturned faces, row upon row, receding into shadow at the further end of the hall, and she bowed composedly in response to the applause that greeted her.  Then she heard Max strike the opening chord of the song, and a minute later the big concert-hall was thrilling to the matchless beauty of her voice, as it floated out on to the waiting stillness.

The five songs of the group followed each other in quick succession, the clapping that broke out between each of them only checking so that the next one might be heard, but when the final number had been given, and the last note had drifted tenderly away into silence, the vast audience rose to its feet almost as one man, shouting and clapping and waving in a tumultuous outburst of enthusiasm.

Diana stood quite still, almost frightened by the uproar, until Max touched her arm and escorted her off the platform.

In the artistes’ room every one crowded round her pouring out congratulations.  Baroni seized both her hands and kissed them; then he kissed her cheek, the tears in his eyes.  And all the time came the thunder of applause from the auditorium, beating up in steady, rhythmic waves of sound.

“Go!—­Go back, my child, and bow.”  Baroni impelled her gently towards the door. “Gran Dio!  What a success! . . .  What a voice of heaven!”

Rather nervously, Diana mounted the platform once more, stepping forward a little shyly; her cheeks were flushed, and her wonderful eyes shone like grey stars.  A fillet of pale green leaves bound her smoke-black hair, and the slender, girlish figure in its sea-green gown, touched here and there with gold embroidery, reminded one of spring, and the young green and gold of daffodils.