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.
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