If she should fail to regain her nerve the
whole concert would he a disastrous fiasco. Possible headlines from
the morrow's newspapers danced before his eyes: "NERVOUS COLLAPSE OF
MISS DIANA QUENTIN," "SIGNOR BARONI'S NEW PRIMA DONNA FAILS TO
MATERIALISE."
"_Diavolo_!" he exclaimed distractedly. "But what shall we do? What
shall we do?"
"What is the matter?"
At the sound of the cool, level tones the little agitated group of
three in the artistes' room broke asunder, and Baroni hurried towards
the newcomer.
"Mr. Errington, we are in despair--" And with a gesture towards
Diana he briefly explained the predicament.
Max nodded, his keen eyes considering the shrinking figure leaning
against the wall.
"Don't worry, Baroni," he said quietly. "I'll pull her round." Then,
as a burst of applause crashed out from the hall, he whispered hastily:
"Get Kirolski to give an encore. It will allow her a little more time."
Baroni nodded, and a minute or two later the audience was cheering the
violinist's reappearance, whilst Errington strode across the room to
Diana's side.
"How d'you do?" he said, holding out his hand exactly as though nothing
in the world were the matter. "I thought you'd allow me to come round
and wish you luck, so here I am."
He spoke in such perfectly normal, everyday tones that unconsciously
Diana's rigid muscles relaxed, and she extended her hand in response.
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