t?"

He tucked her arm within his, patting her hand paternally, and led her
into his own sanctum, where he settled her comfortably in a big
easy-chair beside the fire, and poured her out a glass of wine,
watching her sip it with a glow of satisfaction in his eyes.

"That goes better, _hein_? This Olga--she had not reflected
sufficiently. It was too late for the truth to do good; it could only
pain and grieve you."

"Yes," said Diana. "It is too late now. . . . I've paid for my
ignorance with my happiness--and Max's," she added in a lower tone.
She looked across at Baroni with sudden resentment. "And you--_you
knew_!" she continued. "Why didn't you tell me? . . . Oh, but I can
guess!"--scornfully. "It suited your purpose for me to quarrel with my
husband; it brought me back to the concert platform. My happiness
counted for nothing--against that!"

Baroni regarded her patiently.

"And do you regret it? Would you be willing, now, to give up your
career as a _prima donna_--and all that it means?"

A vision rose up before Diana of what life would be denuded of the
glamour and excitement, the perpetual triumphs, the thrilling sense of
power her singing gave her--the dull, flat monotony of it, and she
caught her breath sharply in instinctive recoil.

"No," she admitted slowly. "I couldn't give it up--now."

An odd look of satisfaction overspread Baroni's face.

"Then do not blame me, my child. For haf I not given you a consolation
for the troubles of life."

"I need never have had those troubles to bear if you had been frank
with me!" she flashed back. "_You--you_ were not bound by any oath of
secrecy. Oh! It was cruel of you, _Maestro_!"

Her eyes, bitterly accusing, searched his face.

"Tchut! Tchut! But you are too quick to think evil of your old
_maestro_." He hesitated, then went on slowly: "It is a long story, my
dear--and sometimes a very sad story. I did not think it would pass my
lips again in this world. But for you, who are so dear to me, I will
break the silence of years. . . . Listen, then. When you, my little
Pepperpot, had not yet come to earth to torment your parents, but were
still just a tiny thought in the corner of God's mind, I--your old
Baroni--I was in Ruvania."

"You--in Ruvania?"

He nodded.

"Yes. I went there first as a professor of singing at the Borovnitz
Conservatoire--_per Bacco_! But they haf the very soul of music, those
Ruvanians! And I was appointe