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Updated: June 4, 2025
Just as the fish was being removed, the door opened to admit a tall, thin woman, wearing outdoor costume, who passed quickly down the room and took the vacant place at the table, murmuring a curt apology to Mrs. Lawrence on her way. To Diana's astonishment she recognised in the newcomer Olga Lermontof, Baroni's accompanist. "Miss Lermontof!" she exclaimed. "I had no idea that you lived here."
The utter, absolute conviction of his tones knocked at her heart, but fear and jealousy were stronger than love. "Then prove it!" she retorted. "Take me into your confidence; put Adrienne out of your life." "It isn't possible not yet," he said wearily. "You're asking what I cannot do." She took a step nearer. "Tell me this, then. What did Olga Lermontof mean when she bade me ask your name?
The question had been lying dormant in her mind ever since the day when Olga Lermontof had first implanted it there. Now it had sprung from her lips, dragged forth by the emotion of the moment. And he couldn't answer it! "Then it's true?" she repeated. Errington's face set like a mask. "That is a question you shouldn't have asked," he replied coldly. "And one you cannot answer?" He bent his head.
She was invariably well-dressed Diana had frequently caught glimpses of silken petticoats and expensive shoes and she had not in the least the air of a woman who is accustomed to small means. Almost as though she had uttered her thought aloud, Miss Lermontof replied to it, smiling rather satirically. "You're thinking I don't look the part? It's true I haven't always been so poor as I am now.
Olga Lermontof still remained her accompanist. For some unfathomed reason she no longer flung out the bitter gibes and thrusts at Errington which had formerly sprung so readily to her lips, and Diana grimly ascribed this forbearance to an odd kind of delicacy the generosity of the victor who refuses to triumph openly over the vanquished! Once, in a bitter mood, Diana had taxed her with it.
On Thursday we will bee-gin." The door closed on the maestro's benevolently smiling face, and on that other the dark, satirical face of Olga Lermontof and Diana found herself once again breasting the March wind as it came roystering up through Grellingham Place. "Look sharp, miss, jump in! Luggage in the rear van."
"As I have you to accompany me," Diana told her one day, when she was ridiculing the idea of failure, "I may perhaps get through all right. I simply lean on you when I'm singing. I feel like a boat floating on deep water almost as though I couldn't sink." "Well, you can't." Miss Lermontof spoke with conviction.
"I think," replied Olga Lermontof incisively, "that it would be very dishonourable of him if he tried to to make you care for him." She moved towards the door as she spoke, and Diana followed her. "But why why do you tell me this?" she faltered. The Russian's queer green eyes held an odd expression as she answered: "Perhaps it's because I like you very much better than you do me.
A burning flush chased away her pallor as she answered his question. "I see." "You see?" nervously. "What do you see?" A very gentle expression came into Max's eyes. "I see," he said kindly, "that I have a tired wife. You mustn't let Baroni and Miss Lermontof work you too hard between them." "Oh, they don't, Max." "All right, then.
"Probably because I'm always firmly convinced of your ultimate success." "No, no. It isn't that. It's because you're the most perfect accompanist any one could have." Miss Lermontof swept her a mocking curtsey. "Mille remercîments!" Then she laughed rather oddly. "I believe you still have no conception of the glory of your voice, you queer child."
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