its work. He was determined to
leave no stone unturned, and he forthwith sought out Errington in his
own house and deliberately broached the subject of his engagement to
Diana.

Max greeted him affectionately.

"It's a long while since you honoured me with a visit," he said,
shaking hands. "I suppose"--laughingly--"you come to congratulate me?"

The old man shook his head.

"Far from it. I haf come to ask you to give her up."

"To give her up?" repeated Max, in undisguised amazement.

"Yes. Mees Quentin is not for marriage. She is dedicated to Art."

Max smiled indulgently.

"To Art? Yes. But she's for me, too, thank God! Dear old friend, you
need not look so anxious and concerned. I've no wish to interfere with
Diana's professional work. You shall have her voice"--smiling--"I'll
be content to hold her heart."

But there was no answering smile on Baroni's lips.

"_Does she know--everything_?" he asked sternly.

Max shook his head.

"No. How could she? . . . _You_ must realise the impossibility of
that," he answered slowly.

"And you think it right to let her marry you in ignorance?"

Max hesitated. Then--

"She trusts me," he said at last.

"Pish! For how long? . . . When she sees daily under her eyes things
that she cannot explain, unaccountable things, how long will she remain
satisfied, I ask you? And then will begin unhappiness."

Errington stiffened.

"And what has our--supposititious--unhappiness to do with you, Signor
Baroni?" he asked haughtily.

"_Your_ unhappiness? Nothing. It is the price you must pay--your
inheritance. But hers? Everything. Tears, fretting, vexation--and
that beautiful voice, that perfect organ, may be impaired. Think!
Think what you are doing! Just for your own personal happiness you are
risking the voice of the century, the voice that will give pleasure to
tens of thousands--to millions. You are committing a crime against
Art."

Max smiled in spite of himself.

"Truly, _Maestro_, I had not thought of it like that," he admitted.
"But I think her faith in me will carry us through," he added
confidently.

"Never! Never! Women are not made like that."

"And perhaps, later on, if things go well, I shall be able to tell her
all."

"And much good that will do! _Diavolo_! When the time comes that
things go well--if it ever does come--"

"It will. It shall," said Max firmly.

"Well, if it does--I ask you, can she then continue her lif