Then, with a crash like thunder, the applause broke out once more, and
presently, reappearing with the sheaf of roses in her hand, Diana sang
"The Haven of Memory" as an encore.
Let me remember,
When I am very lonely,
How once your love
But crowned and blessed roe only,
Long and long ago.
The plaintive rhythm died away and the clapping which succeeded it was
quieter, less boisterous, than hitherto. Some people were crying
openly, and many surreptitiously wiped away a tear or so in the
intervals of applauding. The audience was shaken by the tender,
sorrowful emotion of the song, its big, sentimental British heart
throbbing to the haunting quality of the most beautiful voice in Europe.
Diana herself had tears in her eyes. She was experiencing for the
first time the passionate exultation born of the knowledge that she
could sway the hearts of a multitude by the sheer beauty of her
singing--an abiding recompense bestowed for all the sacrifices which
art demands from those who learn her secrets.
Her fingers, gripping with unconscious intensity the flowers she held,
detached a white rose from the sheaf, and it had barely time to reach
the floor before a young man from the audience, eager-eyed, his face
pale with excitement, sprang forward and snatched it up from beneath
her feet.
In an instant there was an uproar. Men and women lost their heads and
clambered up on to the platform, pressing round the singer, besieging
her for a spray of leaves or a flower from the sheaf she carried.
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