"Dear Mis Quentin"—Baroni had written in his funny, cramped handwriting—"You may sing for Miss de Gervais. I have seen the list of guests and it can do no harm—possibly a little good. Yours very sincerely, CARLO BARONI."
"Miss de Gervais must have a 'way' with her," said Jerry meditatively.
"I observe that even my boss always does her bidding like a lamb."
Diana poured herself out a second cup of tea before she asked negligently:—
"When's your 'boss' returning? It seems to me he's allowing you to live the life of the idle rich. Will he be back for Adrienne's reception?"
"No. About a week afterwards, I expect."
"Where's he been?"
"Oh, all over the shop—I've had letters from him from half the capitals in Europe. But he's been in Russia longest of all, I think."
"Russia?"—musingly. "I suppose he isn't a Russian by any chance?"
"I've never asked him," returned Jerry shortly.
"He is certainly not pure English. Look at his high cheek-bones. And his temperament isn't English, either," she added, with a secret smile.