. . . The contralto of the century, Giulia."
And Signora Evanci smiled and nodded agreement, patting Diana's hand, and
reminded Baroni that it was time for his afternoon cup of consomme. She
was a comfortable feather-bed of a woman, whose mission in life it seemed
to be to fend off from her brother all sharp corners, and to see that he
took his food at the proper intervals and changed into the thick
underclothing necessitated by the horrible English climate.
"But it will want much training, your voice," continued Baroni, turning
once more to Diana. "It is so beeg that it is all over the place--it
sounds like a clap of thunder that has lost his way in a back garden."
And he smiled indulgently. "To bee-gin with, you will put away all your
songs--every one. There will be nothing but exercises for months yet.
And you will come for your first lesson on Thursday. Mondays and
Thursdays I will teach you, but you must come other days, also, and
listen at my lessons. There is much--very much--learned by listening, if
one listens with the brain as well as with the ear. Now, little
singing-bird, good-bye. I will go with you myself to the door."
The whole thing seemed too impossibly good to be true. Diana felt as if
she were in the middle of a beautiful dream from which she might at any
moment waken to the disappointing reality of things. Hardly able to
believe the evidence of her senses, she found herself once again in the
narrow hall, shepherded by the maestro's portly form.
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