ispered 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.

"My dear," she said, and the keen old eyes were suddenly blurred and
dim. "I want to thank you. One is apt to forget--when one is very
lonely--that we've most of us worn love's crown just once--if only for
a few moments of our lives. . . . And it's good to be reminded of it,
even though it may hurt a little."

"That was the Dowager Duchess of Linfield," murmured Olga, when the old
lady had moved away again. "They say she was madly in love with an
Italian opera singer in the days of her youth. But, of course, at that
time he was quite unknown and altogether ineligible, so she married the
late Duke, who was old enough to be her father. By the time he died
the opera singer was dead, too."

That was Diana's first taste of the power of a beautiful voice to
unlock the closed chambers of the heart where lie our hidden
memories--the long pain of years, sometimes unveiled to those whose
gifts appeal directly to the emotions. It sobered her a little. This,
then, she thought, this leaf of rue that seemed to bring the sadness of
the world so close, was interwoven with the crown of laurel.

"Won't you say how do you do to me, Miss Quentin? I've been deputed by
Miss de Gervais to see that you have some supper after breaking all