The Splendid Folly | Page 2

murmured at last.
The man's deep-set blue eyes swept her from head to foot in a single
comprehensive glance.
"I am very glad to have been of service," he said briefly.

With a slight bow he raised his hat and passed on, moving swiftly down
the street, leaving her staring surprisedly after him and vaguely feeling
that she had been snubbed.
To Diana Quentin this sensation was something of a novelty. As a rule,
the men who were brought into contact with her quite obviously
acknowledged her distinctly charming personality, but this one had
marched away with uncompromising haste and as unconcernedly as
though she had been merely the greengrocer's boy, and he had been
assisting him in the recovery of some errant Brussels sprouts.
For a moment an amused smile hovered about her lips; then the
recollection of her business in Grellingham Place came back to her with
a suddenly sobering effect and she hastened on her way up the street,
pausing at last at No. 57. She mounted the steps reluctantly, and with a
nervous, spasmodic intake of the breath pressed the bell-button.
No one came to answer the door--for the good and sufficient reason
that Diana's timid pressure had failed to elicit even the faintest
sound--and its four blank brown panels seemed to stare at her
forbiddingly. She stared back at them, her heart sinking ever lower and
lower the while, for behind those repellent portals dwelt the great man
whose "Yea" or "Nay" meant so much to her--Carlo Baroni, the famous
teacher of singing, whose verdict upon any voice was one from which
there could be no appeal.
Diana wondered how many other aspirants to fame had lingered like
herself upon that doorstep, their hearts beating high with hope, only to
descend the white-washed steps a brief hour later with the knowledge
that from the standpoint of the musical profession their voices were
useless for all practical purposes, and with their pockets lighter by two
guineas, the _maestro's_ fee for an opinion.
The wind swept up the street again and Diana shivered, her teeth
chattering partly with cold but even more with nervousness. This was a
bad preparation for the coming interview, and with an irritation born of
despair she pressed the bell-button to such good purpose that she could
hear footsteps approaching, almost before the trill of the bell had

vibrated into silence.
An irreproachable man-servant, with the face of a sphinx, opened the
door.
Diana tried to speak, failed, then, moistening her lips, jerked out the
words:--
"Signor Baroni?"
"Have you an appointment?" came the relentless inquiry, and Diana
could well imagine how inexorably the greatly daring who had come
on chance would be turned away.
"Yes--oh, yes," she stammered. "For three o'clock--Miss Diana
Quentin."
"Come this way, please." The man stood aside for her to enter, and a
minute later she found herself following him through a narrow hall to
the door of a room whence issued the sound of a softly-played
pianoforte accompaniment.
The sphinx-like one threw open the door and announced her name, and
with quaking knees she entered.
The room was a large one. At its further end stood a grand piano, so
placed that whoever was playing commanded a full view of the
remainder of the room, and at this moment the piano-stool was
occupied by Signor Baroni himself, evidently in the midst of giving a
lesson to a young man who was standing at his elbow. He was by no
means typically Italian in appearance; indeed, his big frame and
finely-shaped head with its massive, Beethoven brow reminded one
forcibly of the fact that his mother had been of German origin. But the
heavy-lidded, prominent eyes, neither brown nor hazel but a mixture of
the two, and the sallow skin and long, mobile lips--these were
unmistakably Italian. The nose was slightly Jewish in its dominating
quality, and the hair that was tossed back over his head and descended
to the edge of his collar with true musicianly luxuriance was grizzled

by sixty years of strenuous life. It would seem that God had taken an
Italian, a German, and a Jew, and out of them welded a surpassing
genius.
Baroni nodded casually towards Diana, and, still continuing to play
with one hand, gestured towards an easy-chair with the other.
"How do you do? Will you sit down, please," he said, speaking with a
strong, foreign accent, and then apparently forgot all about her.
"Now"--he turned to the young man whose lesson her entry had
interrupted--"we will haf this through once more. Bee-gin, please: 'In
all humility I worship thee.'"
Obediently the young man opened his mouth, and in a magnificent
baritone voice declaimed that reverently, and from a great way off, he
ventured to worship at his beloved's shrine, while Diana listened