"
Baroni regarded her seriously.
"Is that so? Good! Then I will talk to the young man, so that he may
realise that he is not marrying just Mees Diana Quentin, but a voice--a
heaven-bestowed voice. What is his name?"
"You know him," she answered smilingly. "It's Max Errington."
She was utterly unprepared for the effect of her words. Baroni's face
darkened like a stormy sky, and his eyes literally blazed at her from
beneath their penthouse of shaggy brow.
"Max Errington! _Donnerwetter_! But that is the worst of all!"
Diana stared, at him in mute amazement, and, despite herself, her heart
sank with a sudden desperate apprehension. What did it mean? Why
should the mere mention of Max's name have roused the old _maestro_ to
such a fever of indignation?
Presently Baroni turned to her again, speaking more composedly,
although little sparks of anger still flickered in his eyes ready to
leap into flame at the slightest provocation.
"I haf met Mr. Errington. He is a charming man. But if you marry him,
my dear Mees Quentin--good-bye to your career as a world-artiste,
good-bye to the most marvellous voice that the good God has ever let me
hear."
"I don't see why. Max thoroughly understands professional life."
"Nevertheless, believe me, there will--there _must_ come a time when
Max Errington's wife will not be able to appear before the world as a
public singer.
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