There was no one else in the artistes' room. The other performers were
mingling with the guests, only withdrawing from the chattering crowd
when claimed by their part in the evening's entertainment.
"How far on are they?" asked Diana, picking up the programme and
running her eye down it.
"Your songs are the next item but one," replied Miss Lermontof.
A violin solo preceded the two songs which, bracketed together in the
middle of the programme as its culminating point, made the sum total of
Diana's part in it, and she waited quietly in the little anteroom while
the violinist played, was encored and played again, and throughout the
brief interval that followed. She felt that to-night she could not
face the cheap, everyday flow of talk and compliment. She would sing
because she had promised, that she would, but as soon as her part was
done she would slip away and go home--home, where she could sit alone
by the dead embers of her happiness.
A little flutter of excitement rippled through the big rooms when at
last she mounted the platform. People who had hitherto been content to
remain, in the hall, regarding the music as a pleasant accompaniment to
the interchange of the day's news and gossip, now came flocking in
through the doorways, hoping to find seats, and mostly having to
content themselves with standing-room.
Almost as in a dream, Diana waited for the applause to subside, her
eyes roaming halt-unconsciously over the big assembly.
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