"When I give my recital you shall have a seat in the front row," Diana
promised, as she picked up her gloves and music-case.
A tap sounded at the door.
"Are you ready?" inquired Olga Lermontof a voice from outside.
Bunty opened the door.
"Oh, come in, Miss Lermontof. Yes, Miss Quentin is quite ready, and I
must run away now."
Olga came in and stood for a moment looking at Diana. Then she
deliberately stepped close to her, so that their reflections showed
side by side in the big mirror.
"Black and white angels--quite symbolical," she observed, with a short
laugh.
She was dressed entirely in black, and her sable figure made a
startling foil to Diana's slender whiteness.
"Nervous?" she asked laconically, noticing the restless tapping of the
other's foot.
"I believe I am," replied Diana, smiling a little.
"You needn't be."
"I should be terrified if anyone else were accompanying me. But,
somehow, I think you always give me confidence when I'm singing."
"Probably because I'm always firmly convinced of your ultimate success."
"No, no. It isn't that. It's because you're the most perfect
accompanist any one could have."
Miss Lermontof swept her a mocking curtsey.
"_Mille remerciments_!" Then she laughed rather oddly. "I believe you
still have no conception of the glory of your voice, you queer child."
"Is it really so good?" asked Diana, with the genuine artist's craving
to be reassured.
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