"Is there, madam?" Milling, arranging the breakfast things on a little
table beside the bed, regarded her mistress affectionately. It was long,
very long, since she had seen her with that look of happy anticipation in
her face--never since the good days at Lilac Lodge, before she had
quarrelled so irrevocably with her husband--and the maid wondered whether
it foretokened a reconciliation. "Is there, madam? Then I'm glad it's a
fine day. It's a good omen."
Diana smiled at her.
"Yes," she repeated contentedly. "It's a good omen."
Milling paused on her way out of the room.
"If you please, madam, Signor Baroni would like to know at what time you
will be ready to rehearse your songs for to-night, so that he can
telephone through to Miss Lermontof?"
To rehearse! Diana's face clouded suddenly. She had entirely forgotten
that she had promised to give her services that night at a reception,
organised in aid of some charity by the Duchess of Linfield--the shrewish
old woman who had paid Diana her first tribute of tears--and the
recollection of it sounded the knell to her hopes of seeing Max that day.
The morning must perforce be devoted to practising, the afternoon to the
necessary rest which Baroni insisted upon, and after that there would be
only time to dress and partake of a light meal before she drove to the
Duchess's house.
It would not be possible to see Max! Even had there been time she dared
not risk the probable consequences to her voice which the strain and
emotion of such an interview must necessarily carry in their train.
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