ington, 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.

Olga Lermontof paused a moment before replying to Diana's query. The she
said briefly:--

"No. He's a dramatist. I shouldn't allow myself to become too
interested in him if I were you."

She smiled a trifle grimly at Diana's sudden flush, and her manner
indicated that, as far as she was concerned, the subject was closed.

Diana felt an inward conviction that Miss Lermontof knew much more
concerning Max Errington than she chose to admit, and when she fell
asleep that night it was to dream that she and Errington were trying to
find each other through the gloom of a thick fog, whilst all the time the
dark-browed, sinister face of Olga Lermontof kept appearing and
disappearing between them, smiling tauntingly at their efforts.

CHAPTER IX

A CONTEST OF WILLS

Diana was sitting in Baroni's music-room, waiting, with more or less
patience, for a singing lesson. The old _maestro_ was in an
unmistakable ill-humour this morning, and he had detained the pupil
whose lesson preceded her own far beyond the allotted time, storming at
the unfortunate young man until Diana marvelled that the latter had
sufficient nerve to continue singing at all.

In a whirl of fury Baroni informed him that he was exactly suited to be
a third-rate music-hall artiste--the young man, be it said, was making
a special study of oratorio--and that it was profanation, for any one
with so incalculably little idea of the very first principles of art to
attempt to interpret the works of the great masters, together with much
more of a like explosive character. Finally, he dismissed him abruptly
and turned to Diana.

"Ah--Mees Quentin." He softened a little. He had a great affection
for this promising pupil of his, and welcomed her with a smile. "I am
seek of that young man with his voice of an archangel and his brains of
a feesh! . . . So! You haf come back from your visit to the country?
And how goes it with the voice?"

"I expect I'm a bit rusty after my holiday," she replied
diplomatically, fondly hoping to pave the way for more lenient
treatment than had been accorded to the luckless student of oratorio.

Unfortun