"And now," said Diana, as they settled themselves for a comfortable yarn over the teacups, "tell me all the news. Oh by the way, what's your important message? I don't believe"—regarding him severely—"that you've got one at all. It was just an excuse."
"It wasn't, honour bright. It's from Miss de Gervais—she sent me round to see you expressly. You know, while Errington's away I call at her place for orders like the butcher's boy every morning. The boss asked me to look after her and make myself useful during his absence."
"Well," said Diana impatiently. "What's the message?" It did not interest her in the least to hear about the arrangements Max had made for Adrienne's convenience.
"Miss de Gervais is having a reception—'Hans Breitmann gif a barty,' you know—"
"Of course I know," broke in Diana irritably, "seeing that I'm asked to it."
Jerry continued patiently.
"And she wants you as a special favour to sing for her. As a matter of fact there are to be one or two bigwigs there whom she thinks it might be useful for you to meet—influence, you know," he added, waving his hand expansively, "push, shove, hacking, wire-pulling—"
"Oh, be quiet, Jerry," interrupted Diana, laughing in spite of herself.
"It's no good, you know. It's dear of Adrienne to think of it, but
Baroni won't let me do it. He hasn't allowed me to sing anywhere this
last year."
"Doesn't want to take the cream off the milk, I suppose," said Jerry, with a grin. "But, as a matter of fact, he has given permission this time. Miss de Gervais went to see him about it herself, and he's consented. I've got a letter for you from the old chap"—producing it as he spoke.
"Adrienne is a marvel," said Diana, as she slit the flap of the envelope. "I'm sure Baroni would have refused any one else, but she seems to be able to twist him round her little finger."