Errington meant nothing to him, Diana and her voice everything; and he
was prepared to sacrifice no matter whom to secure her career as an
artiste. By implication he sacrificed Errington.
"It is not possible for me to say more. But be advised, my dear pupil.
Out of my great love for you I say it--_let Max Errington go his way_."
And with those words--sinister, warning--ringing in her ears, Diana
returned to Brutton Square.
But Baroni was not content to let matters remain as they stood,
trusting that his warning would do its work. He was determined to
leave no stone unturned, and he forthwith sought out Errington in his
own house and deliberately broached the subject of his engagement to
Diana.
Max greeted him affectionately.
"It's a long while since you honoured me with a visit," he said,
shaking hands. "I suppose"--laughingly--"you come to congratulate me?"
The old man shook his head.
"Far from it. I haf come to ask you to give her up."
"To give her up?" repeated Max, in undisguised amazement.
"Yes. Mees Quentin is not for marriage. She is dedicated to Art."
Max smiled indulgently.
"To Art? Yes. But she's for me, too, thank God! Dear old friend, you
need not look so anxious and concerned. I've no wish to interfere with
Diana's professional work. You shall have her voice"--smiling--"I'll
be content to hold her heart."
But there was no answering smile on Baroni's lips.
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