She was utterly unprepared for the effect of her words. Baroni's face darkened like a stormy sky, and his eyes literally blazed at her from beneath their penthouse of shaggy brow.
"Max Errington! Donnerwetter! But that is the worst of all!"
Diana stared, at him in mute amazement, and, despite herself, her heart sank with a sudden desperate apprehension. What did it mean? Why should the mere mention of Max's name have roused the old maestro to such a fever of indignation?
Presently Baroni turned to her again, speaking more composedly, although little sparks of anger still flickered in his eyes ready to leap into flame at the slightest provocation.
"I haf met Mr. Errington. He is a charming man. But if you marry him, my dear Mees Quentin—good-bye to your career as a world-artiste, good-bye to the most marvellous voice that the good God has ever let me hear."
"I don't see why. Max thoroughly understands professional life."
"Nevertheless, believe me, there will—there must come a time when Max Errington's wife will not be able to appear before the world as a public singer. I who speak, I know."
Diana flashed round upon him suddenly.
"You—you know his secret?"
"I know it."