Bunty, who had rejoiced in her promised seat in the front row at the concert, was hurrying to and fro, a maid-servant in attendance, bringing in tea, while Mrs. Lawrence, who had also been the recipient of a complimentary ticket, looked in for a few minutes to felicitate the heroine of the day.

She mentally patted herself on the back for the discernment she had evinced in making certain relaxations of her stringent rules in favour of this particular boarder.  It was quite evident that before long Miss Quentin would be distinctly a “personage,” shedding a delectable effulgence upon her immediate surroundings, and Mrs. Lawrence was firmly decided that, if any effort of hers could compass it, those surroundings should continue to be No. 34 Brutton Square.

Diana herself looked tired but irrepressibly happy.  Now that it was all over, and success assured, she realised how intensely she had dreaded the ordeal of this first recital.

Olga Lermontof, her injured hand resting in a sling, chaffed her with some amusement.

“I suppose, at last, you’re beginning to understand that your voice is really something out of the ordinary,” she said.  “Its effect on the audience this afternoon is a better criterion than all the notices in to-morrow’s newspapers put together.”

Diana laughed.

“Well, I hope it won’t make a habit of producing that effect!” she said, pulling a little face of disgust at the recollection.  “I don’t know what would have happened if Mr. Errington hadn’t come to my rescue.”

Max smiled across at her.

“You’d have been torn to bits and the pieces distributed amongst the audience—­like souvenir programmes—­I imagine,” he replied.  Then, turning towards the accompanist, he continued:  “How does your hand feel now, Miss Lermontof?”

There was a curious change in his voice as he addressed the Russian, and Diana, glancing quickly towards her, surprised a strangely wistful look in her eyes as they rested upon Errington’s face.

“Oh, it is much better.  I shall be able to play again in a few days.  But it was fortunate you were at the concert to-day, and able to take my place.”

“So you approve of me—­for once?” he queried, with a rather twisted little smile.

Olga remained silent for a moment, her eyes searching his face.  Then she said very deliberately:—­

“I am glad you were able to play for Miss Quentin.”

“But you won’t commit yourself so far as to say that I have your approval—­even once?”

Miss Lermontof leaned forward impetuously.

“How can I?” she said, in hurried tones, “It’s all wrong—­oh! you know that it’s all wrong.”

Errington shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m afraid we can never see eye to eye,” he answered.  “Let us, then, be philosophical over the matter and agree to differ.”

Olga’s green eyes flamed with sudden anger, but she abstained from making any reply, turning away from him abruptly.